The Sister of Guinevere
by Stahlfan125
Summary: An Alternate Version of the movie, which follows my theory of 'what if'. It is told by Fuliciana, Guinevere's sister. REVISIONS UP! WOOT! (COMPLETE)
1. C1: I Will Protect You

Revisions are done! Woot woot! I am SO excited to have this done! You have no idea how hard I've been working on it!

Okay, so here's my reasons WHY I did revisions.

MORE TRISTAN! I desperately needed more Tristan in my story, so I figured I'd add some.

I was planning on making a sequel, and there were a few things I wanted to change in the original story to make for a more interesting sequel.

So there you have it! If anyone was wondering why...there it is!

As for all my WONDERFUL reviewers, thank you SO much! You make me feel loved!

DISCLAIMER: Don't own anything except for my imaginary friend named Ioan, Fuliciana, and Fuliciana's father.

Chapter 1: Rescued

There was darkness all around me, suffocating me with its inky tendrils, hiding pain beneath the surface. I was drowning in it, struggling desperately to remain alive and conscious. It was all I could do to breathe.

"Who are these defilers of the Lord's temple?" asked a voice from out of the darkness, dim and muffled by the stone that surrounded me. I flinched back and cowered against said stone, unaccustomed to the actual feeling of _moving_. I clenched my hands into fists and curled on the ground, my joints aching as I did so. Talking was never good. Whenever he spoke, it was because he was ready to torture us again.

"Out of the way!" said another voice firmly and angrily. My eyes slowly opened, burning as the dim light touched them, and my head came up, hopeful tears glimmering in my eyes.

_Please_, I thought desperately. _Please be here to rescue me, father. _

The work of your God. Is this how he answers your prayers?"

My eyes closed, and two tears ran down the tracks of dirt and blood on my face. My hope was fading every passing second. These were not my people.

"How dare you set foot in this holy place!"

I tried to push myself up to my knees, but my body would not respond. In the background, I dimly heard the sounds of a man dying.

"Daire was a man of God!"

"Not my God."

"Help," I whimpered, but the only noise that escaped my lips was a small whimper of pain.

"This one's dead."

"By the smell of it, they're all dead...And you! You even move, you join him."

_No! _I yelled in my mind, desperately trying to force my mouth to make the words. _They are not all dead! Do not leave me here!_

"Arthur!"

There was a great clang, and even in my disoriented state, I knew that someone other than myself was yet alive. I wondered dimly who it was, desperately hoping that it was my dear sister.

"You must not fear me."

"Please," I whispered, managing to move my fingers an inch closer to the grate. "Please!"

Suddenly, my vision was filled with brown, soulful eyes, so sad and so familiar, yet comforting all the same...

* * *

_The knight below had curled black hair; so perfect that I reached my hand out slightly as if to touch it, but withdrew it when I realized what a fool I looked like. _

_"Ready?" hissed the voice beside me. I turned and looked into the face of my brother, Antora. _

_"Has father given the order?"_

_"No."_

_"Then we will wait."_

_"Father is busy fighting."_

_I looked down from my perch in the tree, and saw that Antora was right. My father was fighting the knight whose hair I had been longing to touch only a moment before. The man whirled his two short blades through the air expertly, but my father blocked his thrusts with experience and an agility that was surprising considering his age. _

_My eyes filled with sadness as I stared at the fight. I always hated watching raids such as this one. Why? Because one side had to win, and I did not like watching anyone lose. The Woads, my people, were fierce warriors, but somehow the knights always defeated them. Still, on the rare occasion that a knight was harmed or killed, my heart filled with sadness despite myself. _

_"What do you want to do? Father will be furious if you intrude on his battle."_

_"Go to another tree, Antora. I will cover this post."_

_Antora nodded and scurried down the trunk without any questions. My eyes were firmly fixed on the fight below that was occurring between my father and the knight. The knight was tiring, and there was a certain desperation in his eyes that struck me as sad and touching. I thought of the knight's friends. What would they think when they saw him lying dead on the ground? What would they feel?  
My father cut the knight down, and he crumpled, his curls bouncing everywhere on the ground. My father looked down on the boy, and I could see the turmoil on his face. It was obvious that he felt the same way I did about the knights. _

_To my surprise, the knight's eyes opened, and they were filled with pain. He looked directly at me, in the tree, and I wondered if he saw the tears in my eyes. In any case, he looked away from me a moment later and thrust his sword upwards, impaling my father's leg. _

_I screamed, and the knight's eyes yet again found mine. This time, his own sad brown eyes glimmered with wetness, and they slowly slid closed, a sob shaking his body. My father yanked the sword out of his leg and flung it to the ground before collapsing beside the knight and lying facedown on the grass. _

_"Retreat!" yelled a voice from the woods. "Retreat!"_

_The surviving Woads made a dash for the woods, several of them supporting my father, who still breathed, thankfully. I could only stare at the carnage, counting the bodies sadly and trying to hold my tears at bay. I was safe in the tree, at any rate. I did not have to yet retreat. _

_Then, my eyes fell on the fallen knight, alone in a circle of my people. The other knights were moving off to huddle by an overturned carriage, to tend to their wounds, so far off into the distance that I could not discern one from the other. There were so many of them there that they did not notice that their comrade wasn't among them. _

_I crept down from my tree silently and crept out of the woods, staying in the lengthening shadows with my knife drawn. There was no noise except for the distant grumbling of the knights, and the wind in the trees, so I took extra measures to be silent._

_I found my way to the knight's side, and knelt beside him, watching his chest rise and fall with a small smile on my face. The man was not dead, and that filled my heart with joy despite myself. _

_"Live well," I whispered in my language, a saying that my father used to say whenever he was healing an injured soldier._

_The man's eyes cracked open, and he looked at me with anticipation and dread. He was expecting me to kill him. _

_"Live well," I repeated, this time so the man could understand. _

_The man's eyes slid closed, and he breathed heavily, almost sighing with content. I smiled and draped my cloak across his shivering form, though I myself was cold in the winter air. _

_"Until we meet again, sir knight."_

* * *

Now, that same knight crouched in front of my cell, his eyes as sad as they had been that night that he had been injured, five years before.

"Please," I whispered, my voice barely a whisper. "Please."

The knight gave no sign of recognizing me, but he cut down the grate.

"Found something?" asked a second voice. Another man with long brown hair came into view, and his eyes narrowed when he saw me. "She's a woad."

"Get her out of there," came a third voice. I started to move, but both knights proceeded to pull me out of the dungeon, scraping my stomach on the rough stone. If I had been in any other state, I would have screamed in pain, but I was too weak to do anything other than shudder.

The knight lifted me up, and I clung to his chest plate, my eyes pleading with him to keep me safe. He looked away, and concentrated on carrying me out of the dungeon.

"She's a woad," said a voice. "They both are."

"I know," replied another voice firmly. "Water! Give me some water!"

I was laid on the ground gently, and a strong arm propped up my head as I was forced to drink. After so many days without water, the liquid burned my throat, yet made me yearn for more. My hands wrapped around the jug tightly, curling around the knight's fingers.

"I'm a Roman officer. You're safe now," said a voice. I turned my head to see who was speaking, and saw a man in a grand red cape kneeling over an emaciated form entangled in a dirty and torn dress.

"Guinevere," I whispered, struggling to sit. My rescuer tried to push me back down, and the other knight who was with him tried to get me to lie back as well, but I protested weakly, trying to fight them off with clumsy and badly placed blows.

"You are..." The man bending over my sister started to repeat his earlier statement, but a fat man that I remembered clearly as the man who owned the estate charged forward.

"Stop what you are doing!" he roared. I sat up slowly, and my rescuer supported me with an arm behind my back, watching Marius like a hawk.

"What is this madness?" asked Guinevere's rescuer, who I knew was Arthur, commander of the knights of the wall.

"They are all pagans here!" exclaimed Marius, waving his arm to me and Guinevere, and a third boy who I had not noticed at first.

"So are we," replied a knight on horseback who stood nearby.

"They refused to do the task God has set for them! They must die as an example!"

My rescuer looked down on me briefly, and I shuddered, feeling the intense need to vomit. So many painful memories that I had blocked out of my mind were flooding back to me.

"You mean they refused to be your serfs?" Arthur asked angrily.

"You are a Roman!" Marius exclaimed. "You understand. And you are a Christian!"

I flinched away from the glare he shot me, and my rescuer and the other knight both moved to block me if he decided to try and do me any harm.

"You!" yelled Marius suddenly, huffing up to Guinevere and his wife, Valoria. "You kept them alive!"

I whimpered weakly and tried to stand to defend Guinevere if the need arose, but my rescuer stopped me. In any case, Marius wasn't intending on hurting Guinevere, but Valoria. He slapped her roughly across the face, and I winced as she fell to the ground beside Guinevere. Before Marius could move, Arthur punched Marius in the face, and the fat man sprawled on the ground.

Arthur had his sword out and pointed at Marius's neck before any of Marius's mercenaries could react. They started to move slowly forward, but Marius held up a trembling hand.

"No! No! Stop!" he exclaimed, sounding a bit panicked. He turned back to Arthur and lowered his voice to a growl. "When we get back to the wall, you will be punished for this heresy."

Arthur reached down and grabbed Marius.

"Perhaps I should kill you now and seal my fate," he spat, looking angrier than I had ever seen anyone before.

"I was willing to die with them," said a voice from my left, so close to me that I whimpered and tried to move away. The second knight who had helped me out of the dungeons gently placed a hand on my arm, brushing a curly lock of hair out of my face.

"Do not fear," he whispered, so quietly that I could hardly hear him. I looked up at my torturer, and I shuddered despite the knight's calming words. "He can not harm you. I will protect you."

I looked up and nodded silently, tears of thanks spilling over my lashes. My curly haired rescuer, oblivious to this exchange, tightened his grip on my back as my torturer gazed at me.

"Then I shall grant His wish," Arthur said to the monk, nodding slightly. My eyes widened and my mouth dropped open, but my two knights just shook their heads at me quietly. "Wall them back up," Arthur continued, gesturing to the two monks in front of him. I couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped me.

"Arthur..." protested the knight who had spoken the calming words to me.

"I said wall them up!" Arthur growled. The serfs of the Honorius estate moved forward, pushing the monks into the prison where they had held us.

"Don't you see it is the will of God these sinners be sacrificed?" one of the monks sobbed. "These sinners! These sinners!"

I shuddered and tried to look away, but my eyes stayed riveted as the serfs pushed the monks into the dungeon, beginning to wall them up. I saw Arthur, and he was staring at me, calculating. Then, he looked to Guinevere. I figured that he was wondering if either of us was in well enough condition to slit his throat while he was sleeping.

"Lancelot," he said suddenly, looking at my curly-haired rescuer. "Take her to a carriage. Dagonet, you get the boy."

With that, he walked over to Guinevere and lifted her himself. I had not yet had the chance to see how she fared, but I figured that since they were bothering with her at all, then she had to be alive, at least.

The curly-haired knight, Lancelot, lifted me into the air gently, carrying me behind Arthur and the tall bald knight, Dagonet who was carrying a small boy who I now recognized as a boy by the name of Lucan. I clutched Lancelot's chest and lay my head down on his arm, looking up at him quietly. He looked down once, but looked away quickly after that, keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead of him.

It was around that time that I began to grow dizzy, and my world began to spin. I whimpered and clutched Lancelot tighter, but my fighting was useless, and I slid into darkness.


	2. C2: He Remembered

Just an explanation here: I decided to do the whole Lance/Fuliciana battle thing because of a dream I had. (Weird, I know, but I had a dream of Lancelot fighting this big ass Woad guy, and getting hurt, so I just built on that and turned it into a Lance/Fuliciana thing.)

Well, Read on!

* * *

Chapter 2: He Remembered

When I next awoke, I was lying on a bed of furs and blankets, and a cool cloth was soothing my burning forehead. I sighed contentedly and opened my eyes, gazing into Valoria's face.

"You're awake!" she exclaimed happily. "Sooner than we could hope."

"How long was I ill?" I asked, starting to sit up. Valoria pushed me down gently but firmly, and I scowled. I was getting tired of being forced onto my back.

"Days," she remarked, waving her hand as if it were not anything to worry about. "You had a fever, and were calling out in sleep for your sister. She, fortunately, is on the road to recovery."

"And I?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

"You're getting close," Valoria reassured me, patting my shoulder in an annoyingly patronizing fashion.

"What about the boy?" I asked. "Lucan. Is he all right?"

Valoria moved slightly so I could see to the front of the room, which actually turned out to be a moving carriage, where Lucan lay on a smaller pile of blankets. He was being tended to by Dagonet.

"He will recover," Dagonet told me, a ghost of a smile in his eyes, but not on his face.

"Good," I whispered. I turned to look at Guinevere, and saw that she was sleeping peacefully, her mouth turned down in a frown that almost looked like a scowl. I had to smile; she looked very angry.

"We are going to the wall," Valoria explained to me, though I hadn't asked. "Arthur and his knights saved us from the Saxons."

"Saxons?" I asked, interested and slightly afraid.

"They are coming from the north. A great army."

"And what of the Romans? Will they stand and defend Briton, or will they let it rot in the hands of the beasts?"

Valoria was silent for a moment, as if trying to think of an answer that wouldn't upset me. She needn't have bothered. The moment the question was out of my mouth, I knew the answer.

"Of course not," I said bitterly, answering my own questions. "It is only fitting, I suppose, that they take our land from us, only just to say that they own it, and then they flee, leaving us to clean up the mess. And what of the knights?"

This last bit was directed towards Dagonet.

"We will go home," said a haughty voice from outside the carriage. "At least, some of us will."

I refocused my eyes to see outside into the light, and saw Lancelot, my rescuer, riding astride his black stallion, a wild grin turned on me.

"I was not asking where you would go next," I said coldly. "I was stating how utterly...Roman it is to force young men into service for half their lives for absolutely nothing."

Lancelot's grin faded, but mine grew. The cocky knight shook his head, and turned his back.

"It is _very _Roman," he muttered. I murmured a quiet agreement, but I was not sure if he heard me.

"Saxons," I muttered under my breath, my hands clenching into fists. I looked over at Guinevere, and felt a burning desire to jump out of bed and shake her until she woke. Where were we to go? What would we do? Guinevere knew the answers. Guinevere _always _knew the answers.

I looked up and saw Lancelot looking at me with a smug grin on his face as if to say _Ah, so you're nothing but your sister's lapdog, are you? _I scowled and looked away, leaning back against the pillows and folding my arms across my chest. As soon as I was sure that Lancelot wasn't looking at me any longer, I turned my gaze back on him.

He was certainly good to look at. Black curls which were still as perfect as they had been those five years before, at the raid. Brown, soulful eyes that held sadness in their depths naturally. A dimpled, playful grin. There was nothing about the man that wasn't perfect. Well, as far as looks went, there wasn't. What I had seen so far of his personality was disappointing.

"Arthur!" exclaimed Dagonet suddenly. My eyes flew from Lancelot's face to the face of the Roman who was entering the carriage. "Back so soon?"

"Yes, Dagonet. I saw that the other was awake," Arthur said. "Fuliciana, is it?"

I nodded warily, and my eyes narrowed slightly, wondering what he wanted from me.

"You are a brave girl, Fuliciana," Arthur remarked, almost sadly. I flinched and looked up at him with fearful eyes, tears shimmering in them. Beyond Arthur, Lancelot's eyes widened, and he stared at me with pity in his gaze.

Arthur turned to Dagonet and patted him on the shoulder, and then turned and walked out of the carriage, leaving me confused as to why he had come in the first place. As soon as he was gone, Dagonet returned to tending to Lucan, and Lancelot gave his horse to a peasant, giving him threatening instructions, before climbing up with Dagonet.

"So," he remarked to me easily, cocking his head to one side as he stood uncomfortably close to my bedside. I looked to Valoria to see if she was going to do anything about this man disturbing my rest, but she was just staring down at the ground, acting as if she didn't know anything was going on at all. "Arthur finds you brave?"

"You'd be better to ask him. I don't read minds."

Lancelot laughed and looked at Dagonet, shaking his head slightly. Then, he turned back and started to open his mouth, but was interrupted by a third person entering the carriage. It was the other knight who had helped Lancelot rescue me.

"Tristan!" exclaimed Lancelot. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be out tracking?"

"Not now," Tristan said offhand as he walked up to me. It struck me that he had a very catlike appearance. He was handsome as well, but his handsomeness was more of an earthy, dirty look. "Fuliciana."

As Tristan walked closer, I could smell the woods on him, like pines in the snow.

"Thank you for helping me," I said. Lancelot grumbled in indignation. Tristan knew that I spoke of when he had comforted me, rather than when he and Lancelot had rescued me from the dungeon, so he nodded slightly with a smile as if to say _it was my pleasure_.

"Anyone with a heart would have done it," he remarked lazily.

"Or eyes," said Lancelot to Dagonet. Dagonet nodded slowly in agreement.

"You won't have eyes if I gouge them out with my knife, now will you?" I asked with a charming smile, flourishing my knife from beneath the sheets. (I didn't know how the knife got there, but I figured that Guinevere had placed it there earlier for my protection.) Lancelot's eyes narrowed, but he was smiling and nodding. It was obvious that I had just earned some respect.

"I don't think we need to be gouging anyone's eyes out," Tristan said with a crooked smile. "Besides, Lancelot is one of the best fighters. You go killing him, and about half your protection is gone."

"My _protection?" _I asked, grinning. "I don't need any man to protect me, Sir Tristan. I am a woman of Briton."

"You certainly needed our protection in the temple," Lancelot replied.

I was suddenly filled with anger for this knight who _dared _to assume that he could even _hope _to relate to what I had gone through. Yes, he had saved me, and he was right in that I _had _needed his protection in the temple. In fact, I wouldn't have minded his arms around me again, but that was something that I preferred not to think of when I was so angry with him.

"If you were speaking to me when I had not just suffered long days and nights of endless torture, then perhaps you would see that I am a capable fighter," I said through clenched teeth, my eyes narrowing at him. "In fact, I think I could kill you even now if I desired."

Lancelot's eyes widened, and he grinned delightfully, as if the death threats made him extraordinarily happy.

"_If _you desired?" he asked, and one eyebrow rose.

"_If _I desired," I replied, very aware that the conversation was taking a seductive turn that I didn't want it to be taking.

"And what do you desire, Fuliciana?" Lancelot asked.

"Many things, Sir Lancelot; none of which I want to sharing with you."

"Oh?" Lancelot asked. I just turned to Tristan."

"Did I hear that you were a tracker?"

"The best," Dagonet volunteered, as Lancelot laughed in the background at my sudden change of subject. Tristan chuckled humorlessly.

"The best?" I asked. "I'm glad you're here then. The Gods know when I might need your tracking skills to protect me."

"I meant no offence by that comment, lady."

"No offence was taken, Sir knight. I was simply joking."

"Joking on a sickbed?" Lancelot remarked. "You _must _be getting better."

"Anything is better than what I was like before," I remarked.

"Actually, I think I liked you better like that."

Lancelot chuckled suggestively, and I knew that he was thinking of how I clung to him like a kitten, begging for him to save me.

"To think, it takes a woman at her weakest point to make him feel strong," I said to Tristan. "Pitiful."

"Oh, pitiful, is it?" Lancelot asked with a laugh. "And tell me. Why am I pitiful?"

"Do you really want me to tell you in front of your fellow knights?" I asked. "Because I don't think you want that."

"Oh, so now you think you know me better than Tristan and Dagonet?" Lancelot asked, chuckling, but sounding slightly insecure.

"The bandage on my arm is coming undone," I said to Valoria.

"I shall fix it, Fuliciana," Valoria said, smiling with relief. "Please, knights, the lady is ill. If you are finished with your talking, then I ask you to leave."

"I shall take my leave," Tristan said, bowing slightly. He nodded to me with a grin before turning and leaving, calling for his horse with a quiet confidence.

"Then I will as well," Lancelot said, looking after Tristan thoughtfully. "Goodbye, Fuliciana." He paused, and then looked me directly in the eyes. "Until we meet again."

My heart skipped a beat, and I stared back at the handsome knight, my lips parted in question and my eyes wide. Before I could speak, however, Lancelot turned his back and walked to the exit, calling for his horse.

"Fuliciana?" Valoria said, nudging me slightly. I murmured an apology and held up my arm as she changed the bandage skillfully.

_Until we meet again, Sir Knight_. Those had been my words to him that day, five years before. Had he remembered me, or was it merely coincidence that he had chosen to say those words? No...it could not be mere coincidence. He had been looking at me with too much certainty, with too much understanding and thankfulness. He remembered.


	3. C3: Tell Me

Here we go: Chapter 3. Hope you liked the rest of the story so far!

Please Review! I love reviews and my reviewers, especially my number 1 fan, Syerri! (You rock, Syerri!)

* * *

Chapter 3: Tell Me

Lancelot was on my mind later that night as Valoria bathed me in warm water boiled over a fire, cleansing my aching wounds with a cloth and making noises of pity for my scarred body.

The man infuriated me; that much was definite. Still, he was charming, in his own way, and it was obvious that there was more to him than he would like people to know. A part of me, the biggest part, couldn't wait to see him again. Another part of me, the injured warrior, thought him a pompous pig. Still, majority ruled, and I decided that our next meeting would be an exciting one for me.

Behind me, Valoria gasped, and she shuddered slightly, looking at a long gash that ran along my hipbone. I turned to look at her, and while I was turning, a movement outside in the snow caught my eye.

Lancelot was standing outside in the snow, standing and staring at me. He was holding something clutched tightly in his hand, and even through the screen that separated us, I could see that his expression was heartbreaking. His eyes, filled with pain, roamed my flesh, sending shivers up my spine, and they came to rest on my own eyes, which were staring into his.

He looked away swiftly, and resumed his walking. After a few steps, however, he faltered and looked back at me as if he were trying to memorize me; every feature and curve, just as I had done to him earlier when we had bickered in the carriage. (Only, in my case, there was much more of me to memorize, as I was half-naked.)

"That is enough, Valoria," I remarked quietly. "I need to return to the carriage to speak with Guinevere."

"Of course," Valoria replied good-naturedly, and I knew that she had not seen Lancelot.

* * *

"Fuliciana?"

I turned and saw Guinevere staring at me, her eyes narrowed slightly against the light of the fire behind me.

"Guinevere," I said with just as much calm. She grinned at me and embraced me lightly, trying to hide the tears in her eyes.

"I am glad you are well," she said to me for what had to have been the third time that day, leading me away from the fire and Dagonet and Lucan and back towards the carriage. "I am meeting with father and Merlin tonight."

"You wish for me to stay here," I said, a statement rather than a question.

"Yes," Guinevere replied. "The woods hold Saxons, and father does not think that you are well enough to defend yourself from attack yet."

"I..." I began indignantly, but Guinevere held up a hand.

"It was father's decision. When you next speak with him, you can tell him. For now, I want you to return to the carriage and wait for me there."

"I will," I said reluctantly, embracing Guinevere once again before making my way back to the carriage.

* * *

_The woods are full of Saxons? I have defended myself against foes greater than Saxons. I have defended myself against Sarmatians! When I next see father, I'll..._

"Fuliciana!"

I turned around in surprise at the sound of someone calling my name, and within a half-a-second, I held my knife in my hand, holding it up defensively. However, it was only Lancelot who dashed out of the shadows towards me, looking angry and frightened.

"What is it?" I asked; my eyes widening as I sensed his fear.

"What does your sister want with Arthur?" he asked angrily. "Why is she leading him into the woods?"

"She's leading him into the woods?" I asked, surprised. Lancelot sighed with frustration and turned to go, but I stopped him. "I believe she might be taking him to see our leader."

"Why?" Lancelot asked harshly.

"I do not know," I replied, looking into Lancelot's eyes to see what he was thinking.

There was fear present more than anything else. It even dominated the sadness that was usually so prevalent. There was fear and love and anger. Love, I suspected, for Arthur. Not the love of a lover, but the love of a brother and of a knight for his commander.

"Do not be afraid," I whispered, suddenly overcome with affection for this knight who I hardly knew.

"I'm not..." Lancelot began, but I cut him off simply by striding across the three-foot distance separating us.

"You love Arthur," I said, not asking, but telling. "You love him like your own brother. You love him as your best friend. Do not worry. He will not be harmed."

Lancelot seemed to sag with relief, and he nodded slowly, turning away slightly.

"I would give my life for him," he said suddenly, turning back to look at me. "If he asked for it, I would give my life."

"He is a good leader," I said.

"He is a better friend," Lancelot remarked, though I could see that it pained him to admit this to me.

There was a small pause, and Lancelot shifted uncomfortably, looking over his shoulders at the shadowy woods, longing for them for probably the first time in his life.

"Thank you for rescuing me," I said quietly, my eyes lowering to the ground.

Lancelot looked at me, and I saw a flash of disgust on his countenance, before his trademark sadness beat it down. He was disgusted with me. Why? Because I was a woad?

"I will go now," I spat. Lancelot looked surprised at my sudden anger, and he opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "We bleed just like you do, Sir Lancelot. When we are stabbed, we die. When we lose one we love, we cry. Just like you."

With that, I turned and walked swiftly into the woods, stopping only when I was certain that Lancelot could not see me in the shadows.

_How dare he? How dare he even consider thinking about me as just a woad beast_? For that was what he had been thinking of, no doubt. I was very good at reading emotions, and I could tell when people were lying, and what they were thinking. Lancelot had certainly been lying to me, pretending that he considered me as anything more than just a Woad.

"You know," said a voice suddenly out of the shadows. I jumped and pulled out my knife, turning to face the voice. "Lancelot sometimes isn't clear on what he is really feeling."

Tristan stepped out of the woods, swathed in darkness and mystery and filling my nostrils with the scent of evergreens. He stopped a few feet away from me and stared at me, taking in every feature of mine just as I took in his features.

"And he ends up hurting those who he only wishes to befriend."

I stared at Tristan, wondering dimly if he was even real. So dreamlike was his appearance from the woods, and so silent was everything around us that I truly believed for a few moments that I was dreaming, and that Tristan was, in fact, simply a figure of my sub-conscious.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked finally. "What Lancelot does or thinks is his own business."

Tristan just smiled haughtily and walked off into the woods, shrugging slightly. I watched him go, a frown of thought on my lips._ Lancelot hurts those that he wishes only to befriend?_

I sat there for a few more moments, before I realized that I was alone in the middle of the woods with no weapon but a small knife, and that Saxons were rumored to be about.

As I exited the trees on my way back to my carriage, I caught sight of Lancelot sitting below a nearby tree, apparently deep in thought. Tristan was making a hasty retreat into the woods, and I had no doubt that he had just been talking to Lancelot, probably about me.

Before I knew what I was doing, I walked over to Lancelot and sat beside him, not waiting for an invitation. Lancelot looked at me and looked mildly surprised, but did not say anything to give me cause to believe that he wished for me to leave. An awkward silence was growing, so I began to talk.

"My father once told me a story of a young knight who was lost in the woods," I began. "He had wandered too far from the rest of the knights, and could not find his way back. He was very young, and had only just arrived from Sarmatia, and he was crying so hard that the Woads took pity on him and brought him to their camp, feeding him and letting him sleep for the night. The next morning, they led him back to the wall safely, and returned to their camp. Early that evening, the young man led the other knights to the Woad camp, and all the Woads were killed."

Lancelot looked back up at me, and his eyebrows rose. I settled myself deeper into the snow and looked back at him, waiting for him to reply, as I knew he would.

"My father told me the same story when I was younger," Lancelot said, coughing slightly, obviously uncomfortable. "But his story was of a brave young knight who wandered away from his camp and was captured by the Woads. They tortured him, but he escaped, and the next day led the knights to the camp...and all the Woads were slaughtered."

"It's sad how much is lost in the translation," I said with a crooked smile. Lancelot flashed me one of his own, and I felt warmer inside, as if his smile had begun to thaw my heart that had been frozen recently with fear and pain.

"So which story is the real?" Lancelot asked. "Do we know?"

"I think if you asked any Woad, they would tell you that my story is the true, but if you asked any Sarmatian, they would say yours."

"So then we will never know?"

"No," I replied. "We will never know."

Lancelot chuckled humorlessly and shifted only slightly, so his arm lightly grazed mine whenever he breathed. I shivered and considered pulling back, but decided against it, and instead stood, intending on going back to my carriage.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Lancelot asked suddenly. I turned, and saw him looking up at me, his eyes pleading.

"What was I?" I asked, frantically trying to decide if he was talking about that battle or not.

"Nothing," Lancelot replied. "I am sorry, I just..."

"Tell me, Lancelot," I whispered, kneeling beside Lancelot and taking his hand gently, my own hand trembling. "Tell me."


	4. C4: It Was You

Chapter 4! I'm flying! I'm posting all these chapters in one night so I can get started with LanceyLance's POV right away!

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Chapter 4: It was you

Lancelot looked at me, and for the first time I felt as if he was really looking at _me_. Fuliciana. Not just a pretty woman or a woad beast, but also a soul, a personality. A living, breathing, thinking woman. I highly doubted that Lancelot looked at the many women who he probably bedded over the years in the same way he looked at me then.

"Five years ago, there was a raid."

I smiled and looked down, and I knew that Lancelot was thinking of the battle that I had remembered him from.

"There are many raids, Lancelot," I said with a smile. Lancelot laughed again, but still there was no joy in his laugh.

"In this raid, the...your people put out all their forces. Well...nearly all. There were twenty of us at the time. Twenty knights, facing three hundred Woads. We didn't have much hope. But Arthur...Arthur was strong, and he told us to charge."

I felt tears filling my eyes as that scene played in my mind, my point of view as I sat in the tree. Trembling young men huddled around their commander, who pulled out his sword and screamed a battle cry. The youths had joined in the cry, and I could see the transformation from Roman slave to valiant warrior talking place before my eyes.

"Arthur was injured fighting the Woad commander, and the commander was going to kill him, so I stepped forward and took his place. I didn't...I didn't expect to win, but I fought him for Arthur. He...he cut me down, and I looked up to the trees, ready for him to kill me, and I saw a woman."

Lancelot's hand came up and caressed a curly lock of hair that hung in my face. I blushed, averting my eyes from his.

"A beautiful woman. And I saw...I saw she was crying. For me, I thought. I was suddenly filled with strength, and I stabbed my sword upward, hitting the man who cut me. Then..."

Lancelot broke off, and he looked off into the woods, sighing heavily.

"What is it, Lancelot?" I asked. Lancelot looked directly at me, and continued.

"She screamed. I looked up and saw the horror on her face. I knew immediately that I had thought wrong. That she hadn't been crying for me, but for the man I was fighting. I was...sad. Then...there was darkness."

Lancelot gave a huff of a laugh and shook his head slightly.

"I heard someone talking in a tongue that I did not know when I next awoke. I opened my eyes, and saw the woman sitting above me. She...she reached out and touched my head, and said to me 'live well'. Then, she took off her own cloak and laid it across me to keep me warm. Then she said 'until we meet again, Sir knight', before she vanished into the woods."

Lancelot looked up at me, eyes pleading once again. I sighed heavily and reached out and touched his inviting curls, whispering the same thing that I had those five years before.

"It was my father you fought, Lancelot. Those tears...those tears _were _for you. For your pain. For, you see, Lancelot, we are both slaves to the Romans. Both of us live on lands that the Romans claim to own. We fight one another simply because the Romans tell us to. That day...that day, I was thinking of Romans, and I saw you, and to me, you were beautiful. You were not tainted by the Romans, though you had been their servant for ten years."

"It was you," Lancelot said, sighing with relief. "I knew, the moment I saw you in the dungeon."

"And the same for me," I remarked. "I knew it too."

"I have waited five years to see you again," Lancelot said. "You have filled my dreams for five years. I never forgot you, though your face faded in time."

"The same for me," I said, grinning. "It must be fate that we meet up like this."

"Tristan seems to think so," Lancelot muttered. I tilted my head questioningly, and Lancelot was about to explain, but he never got a chance.

"Fuliciana!" came Guinevere's voice, so sudden and loud that I jumped nearly a foot in the air in shock, spinning around to face her with my mouth wide open.

"Guinevere!" I exclaimed, standing hurriedly. Lancelot remained seated, an irresistibly roguish grin on his face.

"I told you to wait for me in the carriage!" Guinevere growled. I began walking away from Lancelot, towards my sister, and I saw his grin fade to sadness.

"I was not aware that I had begun heeding your every word like a slave," I remarked lightly, tilting my head at her as I walked past. "Besides, I was...distracted."

"Distracted?" Guinevere hissed incredulously. "_Distracted?_"

She followed after me with purposeful strides, her whole frame trembling with anger.

"Distracted by Lancelot?"

"Yes," I said, deciding that Guinevere didn't have to hear the whole story. "I was distracted by Lancelot and Tristan."

"Both?" Guinevere asked, sounding amused despite her anger. I shot her an angry look.

"If you bothered to ask for the whole of it, then you would understand," I said. "But since you did not..."

I walked faster, lengthening the distance between Guinevere and myself.

"Fuliciana!" Guinevere whined, almost girlishly, running to catch up with me. "I just..."

"Later, sister," I remarked as I stepped up to the carriage, turning and looking down at her. "I am tired, and I need to rest."

This time, when Guinevere said my name, it was warningly. I shrugged and crossed the wooden floor over to my pile of blankets. My body eased onto them wearily, and I finally allowed myself to wince at the pain that shot through my body when I moved.

"I was only going to tell you what information Merlin passed to me," Guinevere said, almost threateningly. She looked down at me with raised eyebrows and then turned to go into her own bed.

"Well?" I asked impatiently. Guinevere grinned and turned to face me.

"He wants Arthur to lead our people to victory against the Saxons."

"What?" I asked incredulously. "But Arthur is a _Roman."_

"Only half-Roman if you remember correctly," Guinevere reminded me.

"Well...yes," I replied. "But he will be free..."

"This is not the time for you to be feeling pity," Guinevere said harshly, holding up a hand. "I know that you pity these men more then you pity our own people. I have never understood it, and I don't believe I ever will, but we can talk of that another time. Now...just let me explain to you."

"Fine," I said bitterly, folding my arms across my chest.

"Merlin wants Arthur to lead out people to victory. Tonight, he tried to convince him to do that."

"I take it that this...meeting did not go well?"

"No," Guinevere sighed. "Arthur is angry with Merlin for something that goes beyond my understanding. Having father there didn't help at all."

"Father and Arthur have a history," I remarked, remembering Lancelot's story about the raid. Guinevere looked at me, confused, but I waved a hand, signaling for her to continue.

"Merlin told me that the time might come when we have to trust the knights and their commander...but that time is not now. I know....I believe that you and Lancelot have met before...in the past, perhaps, and I am not going to ask you to explain, but just know that even Merlin gives the advice to be wary."

With that, Guinevere turned and sat down on her bed, signaling that the conversation was over.

I sighed and turned over, looking out into the night from between the two squares of fabric that hung over the doorway. I could only just see Lancelot's face in that slit, and my eyes remained there as I drew strength from his presence. I knew it was wrong to look at him the way I was, but I would have bet my life that Lancelot looked at me in the same way, and I would have also bet that he looked at other women in the same way when he was in the taverns on the wall.

"Goodnight, Lancelot," I mouthed despite myself, feeling very silly and childish, yet oddly comforted, and I closed my eyes and drifted off into my first deep and peaceful slumber in a great many weeks.


	5. C5: The Death of Marius Honorius

Chapter 5! Please review! This one's rather short, but it's not that long of an event!

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Chapter 5: The Death of Marius Honorius

When I next awoke, the birds were chirping and the air was cool with the morning mist that so frequently hangs over Briton. I looked over at Guinevere's bed, and saw that she was not there. In fact, I was completely alone in the little carriage, and it was beginning to make me uneasy.

I stood up and allowed myself a moment to stretch before I opened the flaps to the door and stepped down to the muddy ground, looking around for anything that might remotely resemble any signs of life. Unfortunately for me, nothing but the birds made any noise, and even _that_ was faint.

I began walking towards a circle of carriages that stood a little ways away from my own, intent on finding Guinevere, wherever she might have been, so I could talk with her about what she had told me the night before. I figured that Guinevere would most likely be somewhere near the Roman commander, and I also figured that the knights would be somewhere near there as well, so I looked for knights as well as my sister.

I saw Dagonet standing in a circle of Roman soldiers, and I smiled, before I realized that something was clearly wrong. Dagonet's sword was in his hand, and he was looking around at all the soldiers, calculating. Even from where I was standing, I could see that Dagonet would be able to defeat all of the Roman's easily, but he was not moving. I crept closer, slowly sliding out my knife from its hiding place on my thigh, and saw the reason for Dagonet's lack of movement.

Marius stood with Lucan held to his large stomach, holding a knife to the boy's throat. Dagonet was watching Lucan with an expression of pure despair and hopelessness.

"Get him!" Marius yelled to the soldiers. I crept forward and drove my knife into the neck of the man closest to me.

"Fuliciana!" Dagonet exclaimed, his normally impassive face breaking into an expression of fear.

"I have the boy," Marius reminded me, digging the knife into Lucan's neck slightly.

"What do I care?" I asked, pulling out my knife delicately and wiping it on the hem of my dress, sidestepping the dead man. "What, do you think my people actually _care _for one another? We're heartless barbarians, Marius! I thought you, of all people, would know that."

Marius squinted at me, trying to figure out if I were serious or not. I wanted to laugh, but I knew the gravity of the situation, so I kept my expression completely serious.

"Kill her!" he yelled. Valoria screamed and launched herself at Marius. Marius just pushed her to the ground, pointing straight at me. "Kill her now!"

Though what happened next happened in less than half-a-second, it seemed to drag on for an eternity. Dagonet looked at me and he shook his head slightly, as if to say that he knew I could not defeat the Romans, even if I weren't in weak condition. I shrugged, trying to look good-natured, but desperately hoping that some stroke of luck would let Lucan and Dagonet escape from this without harm, even if I were to lose my life.

Just as one of the soldiers raised his sword arm, and I drove my knife into his thigh, an arrow flew out of nowhere and struck Marius in the chest. I gasped, and the Roman turned around to look. Using this as an opportunity, I kicked him to the ground and stabbed the knife into his back.

Valoria fell to her knees beside Marius, who was clearly dead, and began wailing. Why she was crying for that bastard, I still do not know, but I suppose some of her must have loved him. The simple part, I'm sure. Only a fool could have loved that pig.

Lucan ran to Dagonet, who picked up his axe and held it ready, a glimmer in his eyes that, if it had reached his mouth, would have been a smirk, most definitely. He looked at me and nodded appreciatively. I smiled back and turned to see who my rescuer was, having no doubt already.

Guinevere nodded at me without a smile, and I grinned, ignoring the dizziness that crept through me. Lancelot and Arthur stood beside Guinevere, their swords out and ready. Lancelot said something to Guinevere that I could not hear, and he smirked while she looked away, her lips pursed in annoyance. She fired an arrow at the foot of the mercenary who was inching towards me as if he thought no one noticed.

Just then, one of the other knights rode up on his horse, laughing obnoxiously.

"Artorius!" he called, slamming his fist against his chest. He rode his horse close to the mercenaries. "Do we have a problem?"

"You have a choice," Arthur said, his deadly calm sending a slight shiver up my spine. I saw that Guinevere was shivering as well, and I shot her a knowing glance. She glared in return. "You help, or you die."

The head mercenary, who was the one who had been inching over to me earlier, threw down his weapon and turned to his men.

"Put down your weapons!" he yelled. "Do it, now!"

The mercenaries looked around at one another slowly, not sure if they should obey their commander or not. Dagonet got into a fighting position, a miniscule grin spreading across his face. Finally, one by one, they threw their swords to the ground, taking defiance in this last action and using all their strength to do so.

I looked at Arthur, and he glanced at me briefly before nodding to a man named Jols who moved to pick up the swords. As that was going on, Guinevere moved up to me after handing her bow to a peasant.

"What were you thinking?" she hissed to me angrily, but she didn't go any further because Tristan rode in, carrying something in his hand.

"How many'd you kill?" the obnoxious knight asked.

"Four," replied Tristan calmly.

"Not a bad start to the day," the obnoxious knight laughed. Tristan just rode up to Arthur and dropped a crossbow at his feet.

"Armor piercing," he said. My eyes widened. "They are close; we have no time."

Arthur paused for only a moment before nodding in Tristan's direction.

"You ride ahead," he said.


	6. C6: Analyzing the Others

This chapter's a bit longer. Basically it's Lancelot telling Fuliciana about the other knights and stuff.

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Chapter 6: Analyzing the Others

Later in the day, I sat near the front of the carriage as Lancelot rode beside it. I was cold, though I was wrapped in a fur blanket, and I felt weak, which made me even more disgusted with myself than I already was. After the incident with Marius and the mercenaries, I had felt sick and dizzy, and had been found vomiting heavily in the woods by Valoria. She had bodily forced me back into the carriage, and I had been confined to it the rest of that morning.

Lancelot had volunteered to guard the carriage, relieving Dagonet of his usual duties. (Arthur had been adamant about having a guard on the carriage; I suspected it had something to do with Guinevere.)

"So tell me about the knights, Lancelot," I said to break the silence. Lancelot looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

"You don't want to talk about last night?" he asked. I laughed calmly.

"Lancelot! Listen to the way you say that! That hardly sounds proper!"

Lancelot laughed as well, and he thought for a moment to try and reword it so it didn't sound as dirty.

"No, Lancelot. I don't want to talk of what we discussed last evening."

"And why not?" Lancelot asked, pretending to be hurt by my statement. "Does it not hold your interest?"

"It holds my interest quite well," I replied. "But this is hardly the setting for a talk of things like that. I wanted to talk of something...lighter."

"Talking of the knights is hardly lighter," Lancelot pointed out. I shrugged.

"It is lighter than talking of you nearly killed," I replied playfully. (I was beginning to notice that our arguments had changed from angry disguised as playful to playful disguised as angry.) Lancelot shrugged.

"All right, then. Who do you want to know more of?"

"Anyone," I replied. Lancelot nodded and scanned the crowd.

"Ah! That one there is Bors." I looked where he was pointing and saw the obnoxious knight.

"Bors," I said, storing the name into my memory.

"He's got eleven bastards and a beautiful woman," Lancelot went on. "He tries to pretend he doesn't care all that much about either, but the rest of us know better."

I nodded as I watched Bors talking animatedly to Dagonet. He certainly seemed friendly.

"It's a frequent joke around here that Bors's children don't have names, but numbers."

My eyes widened and I looked up at Lancelot, confused. He grinned and shrugged.

"Well," I said. "That's interesting."

(Lancelot didn't tell me at the time, but I later found out that it was also a frequent joke that Lancelot claimed to be the father of several of Bors's children.)

"The one riding next to him is Dagonet, you already know."

"Yes," I said.

"Dagonet...Dagonet is a mystery. A bit like Tristan, only less... mysterious. He's just very...quiet. Quiet, but strong."

It was clear that Lancelot was puzzled about Dagonet's true personality. He paused for a moment, just staring at the knight, and then shook his head.

"I just can't figure the man out," Lancelot replied. "The only one who can seem to get him to show any emotion whatsoever is Bors."

"I can see that," I remarked as Dagonet threw his head back and laughed at something that Bors said.

"Let's see...Ah, those two are Galahad and Gawain."

"Which is which?" I asked.

"Galahad is the one with the curly hair, and Gawain is the other."

I nodded, and examined the two men. Galahad was certainly good-looking, if only he would shave that atrocity of a beard off his face, or at least trim it.

I expressed my feelings to Lancelot, and he jumped in surprise slightly; only enough for notice. He tried to mask it by hurrying along with his speech, but I did not miss the jealousy that flashed across his face.

"Galahad is the youngest," he said. "The only one younger than I. He and Gawain are inseparable."

He looked at the two of them enviously, and I knew that he was wishing that he and Arthur were that close.

"What of Tristan?" I asked, wanting to change the subject. "You said he was mysterious."

"Yes. Tristan is _very _mysterious. I suppose you'll see that in time. He is an excellent scout, better than any of your people that I've seen thus far."

"The best," I said, remembering our conversation in the carriage.

"The best," Lancelot repeated.

There was silence for a few moments, and then I broke it by asking after Arthur.

"Arthur? Arthur is...well, Arthur is Arthur."

"That doesn't help me much," I said, grinning. Lancelot laughed slightly, but he looked thoughtful.

"Arthur is...kind," he said. Then, he made a face; obviously, that wasn't the word he was looking for. "Arthur...Arthur is not a man you can describe in words. He is more than a man. A better man than all of us. You will see, in time."

"I hope so," I said quietly, staring off at the front of the column where Arthur rode, looking ahead of him quietly. Every so often, he would look back at Lancelot, as if to make certain that his friend was still there. Whether or not Lancelot knew it, he was always under Arthur's watch. "What I've seen of him thus far has been good."

The two of us were silent once again, and this time I didn't bother to try and break it. I was too busy pitying all of the knights. After all, they were in a worse situation than my people. They had been taken from their homes, forced to fight for a cause that was not their own, and many of them had _died _for it. They had died fighting my people.

"Fuliciana?" said Lancelot suddenly. I turned and looked at him, struck at how innocent he looked. He was staring at me with big eyes, devoid of any of the lusty amusement they had held during our earlier conversation.

"Lancelot?"

"Last night, when Tristan spoke to you, what did he say?"

I was about to open my mouth to speak, but suddenly Galahad and Gawain rode up, out of breath, their eyes full of worry.

"Come, Lancelot," said Gawain, jerking his head towards the front of the line. "Arthur wishes to speak with you."

"Who will take over the guard?"

"No one," Galahad said, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "Arthur wishes to speak with us all."

Lancelot shot me a small look out of the corner of his eye, only long enough for the two friends to notice and send each other insinuating looks. I sighed and watched Lancelot ride to the front of the caravan, where Arthur waited for them, his face lined with worry.


	7. C7: The Death of Dagonet

My second-least-favorite chapter to write! sniff

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Chapter 7: The Death of Dagonet

A few moments later, I received word from Lancelot (who rode back quickly to tell me what had happened) that we were nearing a huge lake that had been frozen over by the ice. We couldn't stop and go back, for the Saxon infantry was following us, and were nearly upon us. There was no other way. We had to risk crossing it.

We started across the ice, moving slowly and carefully. Up front, it was clear that Arthur was becoming frustrated with the pace we were forced to make. I got off of the carriage, despite Guinevere's protests, and walked. (Truthfully, I was too afraid to remain on the carriage, though I would never have admitted it to Guinevere.)

I walked closer to the knights out of instinct. As I got closer, they stopped, and I saw Arthur sigh heavily. Then, he turned to his knights, sadness in his eyes. I knew what would come next.

"Knights," he said, sighing as he said the word.

"Well," Bors said with a smirk and a shrug, "I'm tired of running. And these Saxons are so close behind, my ass is hurting."

"Never liked looking over my shoulder anyway," Tristan said, looking back at me as if he had known all along that I was there. I shivered and pulled my cloak tighter around me.

"It'll be a pleasure to put an end to this racket," Gawain said, grinning.

"We'll finally be able to look at the bastards," Galahad pointed out.

Dagonet was already moving to get his weapons out.

"Here," he said. "Now."

I turned to Guinevere and saw that she was getting out of the carriage, a grin of determination on her face. She looked at me and nodded. I nodded in return, and turned back to watch the knights. Lancelot looked at me and shook his head disapprovingly. I wondered if he knew what I was up to.

I waited for Guinevere, and then the two of us moved towards Arthur. Arthur was talking to a man whom I recognized as one of the serfs he had rescued from Marius Honorius's estate.

"But you are seven against two-hundred!" the man exclaimed fervently. Guinevere took this opportunity to lead us through the pair.

"Nine," she said emotionlessly. "You could use a few more bows."

I saw Arthur and the other man glance at us before returning to their speaking. I grinned. Arthur truly _was _better than a normal man. A normal man would have prevented us from helping.

Guinevere and I walked up to the rest of the knights, who were gathering weapons. Guinevere and I contented ourselves with picking out bows. (Of course, Guinevere had to go through nearly every bow in the pile before she could find one that suited her.)

I was digging through a pile of shields to find one for myself when Lancelot saw me and hurried up.

"You aren't fighting, are you?" he asked incredulously.

"I am," I said, smiling up at him as I found a good shield.

"And why would she not?" Tristan asked, pushing past Lancelot and picking up his sword, which was, for some reason, lying discarded on the ground. "She is a warrior woman, Lancelot. Remember that."

Lancelot looked down at me, and his face broke into a huge smile. Only someone who was exceptionally good at reading emotions like me would have been able to see the fear and worry in his face. I smiled comfortingly at Lancelot, and picked up a sword, before lining up with the others. Lancelot stood beside me on one side, and Guinevere was on the other.

"I don't want you to be harmed," Lancelot said to me quietly. I looked up at him, a little nervous, but extremely excited that he was standing so close to me.

"I won't," I said quietly. "You'll see."

Lancelot shrugged and turned to look out at the ice where the Saxons would eventually appear. Still, I saw him twitching nervously, as if he was trying to keep himself from looking at me.

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We heard the Saxons before we saw them. If we had been hiding in the trees rather than sitting out in the open, we would have been able to kill at least half before they even got close to us. They were making so much noise that even the least experienced tracker would have been able to find them without any trouble.

"Saxon, Saxon, Saxon," they chanted as they made their way into the pass, out onto the lake.

They stopped, and I could feel all two hundred eyes on me. _A woman? _They were most likely thinking. _Two women!_

I saw the lust in their eyes, and I shivered slightly, though I tried to hide it. Lancelot placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, and then looked past me to Guinevere, and smiled.

"You look frightened. There is a large number of lonely men out there," he said, smirking.

"Don't worry," Guinevere said, shooting Lancelot a look of pursed-lipped annoyance that bordered on playfulness. "I won't let them rape you."

I would have laughed if the situation weren't so dire. As it was, I could only look across the ice with my jaw set in determination, fingering my bowstring slightly. I saw Lancelot look at me out of the corner of his eye, and then droop a little, as if depressed.

I reached my hand out, on an impulse, and let it rest on Lancelot's arm. He looked down at me, and I smiled shakily. He returned the smile.

The Saxons fired on us then, but the arrow didn't come anywhere close to reaching us. The Saxon leader began talking with another of the Saxons.

"I think they're waiting for an invitation," Arthur said with all the professional dryness of a commander. "Bors. Tristan."

I looked at Tristan, and he nodded at me, smirking slightly. I grinned back and contented myself with watching him ready his bow.

"We're far out of range!" Guinevere exclaimed to Arthur suddenly. I looked at Tristan again, and he shook his head ever so slightly, not even looking at me as he did it. Then, he and Bors fired, and the arrows flew through the air, striking several of the Saxons and knocking them dead. Arthur raised his eyebrows at Guinevere, who glared back angrily.

The Saxons began to advance, and the knights picked up their bows. I loaded my arrow and waited for the signal from Arthur. When he gave it, we fired, each of us falling a Saxon beast. Again and again we fired, knocking down more of the fur-clad beasts.

"Aim for the wings of the ranks. Make them cluster," Arthur ordered. I readjusted the aim of my bow. We fired again, and the Saxons began to huddle together in the center to avoid being killed.

We kept firing even as Arthur knelt on the ice, feeling it beneath his hands.

"It's not going to crack!" he exclaimed suddenly. I felt an uncontrollable jolt of fear shoot through me as I realized that I was wearing a gown rather than my regular battle gear, and was no where _near_ prepared to fight hand-to-hand with the huge Saxon beasts. "Fall back! Fall back! Prepare for combat!"

I looked at Guinevere and saw that she was biting her lower lip, staring out at the Saxons as she fired another arrow. It was obvious that she was worried as well.

I dropped my bow carelessly and picked up my sword and shield, holding them ready. Lancelot put a hand on my arm, looking down at me with fear. I grinned nervously, trying to look confident but not managing it well.

What happened next...I can't say it was unsuspected. After all, everyone had seen the way Dagonet had waved to Lucan as the carriage had moved across the ice. Besides, though Dagonet was always the quietest of the group, it was apparent that he loved Bors as a true friend as well. As there was very little hope, Dagonet probably was thinking of Lucan and Bors, and knowing that if they had to fight hand-to-hand, then Bors would probably fall, and the Saxons would reach the carriage and kill Lucan.

So, he charged forward, waving his axe in the air and yelling out a war cry without any words. Everyone froze for half-an-instant, and Lancelot's hand tightened on my arm as he moved to stand behind me, so he was embracing me with one arm.

"Dag!" Bors yelled, horror and disbelief in his voice.

It was then that I made my decision. I threw down my sword and took only my shield, reluctantly shaking out of Lancelot's grasp and charging across the ice.

"Fuliciana!" came Guinevere's horrified scream. I heard Lancelot yelling, and I heard someone else yelling at him, but I did not turn around. I kept my eyes focused solely on Dagonet.

He brought his axe crashing down onto the ice, and splinters of shimmering glass flew up. Again, he brought the axe down, and a long, jagged gash began to grow.

Suddenly, the Saxon archers began firing. I yelled and tried to run faster, but Dagonet was sitting out in the open, and with the Saxon commander yelling frantically for the archers to kill him, it was too late.

I reached Dagonet just as a third arrow thudded into his armor-plated chest. He collapsed, and I caught him, abandoning my shield for the moment and trying to pull him away from the crack that was rapidly shooting towards the Saxon infantry.

"Dagonet!" I gasped, just as I heard Guinevere scream my name. I didn't even bother to turn, and the arrow thudded solidly into my shoulder. I fell forward seconds after Dagonet, and the two of us crashed through the ice and into the freezing water.

I reached out my arm that was not paralyzed with pain from the arrow and grabbed Dagonet's arm. I knew that I had to get to the surface, but the pain muddled my mind, and I could not remember in which direction the surface was.

Fortunately, I felt strong hands wrap themselves around my waist, and I was pulled to the surface, still clutching Dagonet tightly.

"Fuliciana!" I heard out of the haze that surrounded me. "Fuliciana, stay awake!"

"Dagonet!"

I heard Bors's broken sobbing, and my own breath caught in my throat. I knew then that Dagonet was dead.


	8. C8: There Will Always Be a Battlefield

Chapter 8! I'm not particularly fond of this title, but it suits the chapter, I guess, because Fuliciana says something along those lines. Oh well, I'll live.

Getting closer to the end! Whoo!

* * *

Chapter 8: Hopelessness Gives Way to Despair

I awoke sometime later, dizzy and disoriented. I could feel a rocking motion beneath me, and I felt a cool cloth gently moving over my forehead. Other than that, the only thing that I could feel was the burning fire in my shoulder.

"She's awake," said a gentle voice from beside me. I opened my eyes and saw Guinevere and Lancelot sitting over me. Guinevere's hair was disheveled and she looked as if she hadn't slept in days. Lancelot, of course, looked fresh and ready for a battle if the need arose, and the only thing that gave away his fatigue was his emotional brown eyes.

"Fuliciana!" Lancelot exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. Guinevere muttered something about going to get better water before hurrying off, nearly tripping over the hem of her dress on the way out.

"How long have I been asleep?" I asked, trying to move my shoulder into a more comfortable position and only succeeding in making it hurt more.

"A few days," Lancelot said uneasily, smoothing my hair absently. That manner in which he did it gave me cause to believe that he had been doing it often while I was sleeping. "Tristan, at first, wasn't sure you'd awake at all. The wound you sustained was... grievous."

"Will it heal soon?" I asked, thinking of the inevitable battle with the Saxons that I was going to have to endure. If I could not draw a bowstring, then there would be a big problem.

"Tristan said it should heal enough in a few days that you'll be able to fire a bow. It'll hurt, he said, but you'll be able."

I grinned sadly at Lancelot, and he smiled back. I looked out the front of the carriage and saw Bors riding beside a horse that was empty at first glance. Once I looked closer, however, I saw that there was indeed something on the horse, and it was not at all what I wanted to see.

I groaned and turned my head, not wanting to cry in front of Lancelot, yet not able to help the slight misting over of my eyes. Lancelot's brow furrowed with worry and he looked out the front of the carriage. When he saw Bors and Dagonet's horse, he nodded in understanding.

"You did all you could," he said. "It was not your fault. Dagonet willingly gave his life for us."

"But needlessly!" I exclaimed. "I should have run sooner. Faster..."

"If you should have run sooner, then I take the blame for that," Lancelot said firmly. "I held you back, remember."

I thought back to the memory of Lancelot holding me tight to him on the ice, just as Dagonet ran out. At the time, I had been too busy staring at Dagonet and thinking of what to do to pull away until I finally realized that the only way to save Dagonet was to run out after him

"Lancelot, nothing you say is going to make me feel like I didn't fail," I said sourly. "For I _did _fail..."

"You didn't fail," Lancelot said with surprising gentleness, moving closer to me, clasping my hand in his. I tried to pull it away, but he held it fast. "If you can only imagine, Fuliciana, what it looked like to us as we stood there watching you. You ran out there, yelling, and all of us thought that that was the _bravest _thing that anyone could do. Then, when you reached Dag, all of us saw the pain in your eyes, and I don't think there was an eye that was not wet with tears. And when..."

Here, Lancelot broke off, swallowing heavily before continuing.

"And when you fell...all of us yelled, Fuliciana, all of us. Fuliciana...you didn't fail. You immortalized yourself in our eyes with that deed. We will always remember you and your bravery in that moment."

"Isn't that a bit of an exaggeration?" I asked with a half-suppressed sob, though I was riveted by Lancelot's words.

"No, it's not an exaggeration," Lancelot said, clutching my hand tightly. "It's not. Fuliciana...you do not value yourself enough."

I sighed and looked back out at Bors and Dagonet, silently wishing that Dagonet would just spring up and laugh at everyone's shocked faces. Though it wasn't really something that Dagonet would have done in life, it was still nice to imagine it.

"He never got to go home," I whispered. Lancelot looked at me, and he looked sad.

"Dagonet never really wanted to go home anyway," he said with a shrug. "Not really. He would go wherever Bors went."

"Where was Bors going?" I asked. Lancelot laughed.

"Bors planned on staying here and starting his own little place."

"Killing Woads all the while, no doubt," I said. "Just for fun, perhaps?"

"Perhaps," Lancelot said, smirking.

"And what of you, Lancelot?" I asked, all too glad to change the subject. "Where are you going when you return to the wall?"

"Home," Lancelot said quickly. "Sarmatia."

"You have a family?" I asked. Lancelot nodded with a smile.

"I have a family," Lancelot said. "And, finally, I will see them again."

"Tell me about your family," I said, trying to ignore the fact that Lancelot was moving his thumb in a circle around the back of my hand rhythmically.

"I don't know how many of them still live," Lancelot said, wincing slightly. "But my sister and brother are no doubt still living."

Lancelot clutched something that he wore around his neck, and I saw that it was a necklace. It was a dragon or a rat or something of the sort. For some reason, this carving filled me with a great sadness and a less intense rage.

"Romans," I growled, shaking my head and looking at Lancelot. "I do not think it is even possible to hate Saxons more than I hate those Roman beasts."

"I think the same way you do, Fuliciana," Lancelot said with a grin. I returned the smile, and Lancelot's eyes lit up with a kind of surprised happiness that made me blush and look away. "What of you, Fuliciana. Do you have a family?"

"I do," I said, shrugging. "My father and my sister. That is all."

"All the others have died?"

"Yes," I said. "My mother died in battle long before you arrived here. They were doing battle with a rogue band of our own people. My brother, Antora, was disowned by my father when I was young. He stayed in my father's command until he was killed."

Lancelot's eyes asked the question. I shook my head.

"Not you," I said gently. "Arthur."

Lancelot looked sad, so I reached out my good arm and placed my hand on his shoulder.

"You can not be sorry for the people you have killed, Lancelot," I said quietly. "It is the fault of the Romans that you are here, not the fault of you."

"I have never been sorry for the people I've killed," Lancelot lied bluntly.

"You are. I see it in your eyes, Lancelot. You do not like to kill, however much you do it. You wish for peace."

Deep in my heart, yes, I do wish for it, but I never allow that wish to consume me as it consumes Arthur, for I know it can never be a reality."

"And why can it not?" I asked quietly. "Do you think the whole world is so opposed to peace that there will never be peace?"

"There will always be a battlefield," Lancelot murmured.

I did not reply to that, but stared at Lancelot with an intense examination. After a few moments of this, Lancelot looked away.

"It is hopelessness like that that gives way to despair," I whispered. "And I would not like to see you in the clutches of despair, Lancelot. You are a strong man, but believe in those words that you just said, and your strength will fall to weakness over time."

Lancelot looked back at me, and I was struck by how helpless and vulnerable he looked, despite the fact that his jaw was set in determination. Determination for what, I still do not know, but he looked helpless nonetheless.

"Do you believe that you will ever find peace?" he asked me, his voice shaking only slightly. He still clutched that lion pendant in his hand, and his knuckles were starting to turn white from the strain.

"Eventually," I whispered quietly. "If not when I am alive, then when I die."

"You find comfort in death, then?"

"I would prefer to live, but if death is the only option, then I will take it willingly."

"Why?"

"Why? I cannot answer you that, Lancelot, for I do not know myself. I have never lived a happy life. Perhaps that is why I would not be angry if my life were to end soon."

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that," said Guinevere suddenly, walking into the carriage with her mouth squeezed together in disapproval. "Though, I suppose it is the weakness talking, not the strong woman who calls herself a warrior, hmm?"

I glared at Guinevere and looked back at Lancelot. He was apparently deep in thought, and when Guinevere's arm brushed his as she sat down, he started with surprise.

"I hope you mend well, Fuliciana," he said quietly, standing and bowing at me, his eyes boring into my soul beautifully. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Lancelot," I whispered, barely audible above the creaking of the carriage wheels.

Guinevere waited until Lancelot had left before she sat down in the chair he had been sitting in only moments before, putting another cloth on my forehead. Her eyes were twinkling, but she was frowning somberly, as if deep in thought.

"Father wishes to see you," she said finally, after a long moment of silence. "He wanted to speak with you earlier. He mentioned it the night I met with he and Merlin in the woods, but I stalled, and forgot to tell you. He is quite angry with me, now."

"Why does he want to speak with me?" I asked bitterly. My father had never been a loving man, but he had treated Guinevere like a princess while nearly ignoring me, leaving my training to my disowned brother, Antora.

"He wishes to see you," Guinevere repeated. "He has not seen you since we were captured, and he misses you."

"He has gone longer days without seeing me, Guinevere."

"I do not say you _have _to go," Guinevere said lightly. "But I would suggest that you consider it. He may have some things to say about your relationship with the knights, particularly Lancelot."

I stifled a growl that was threatening to escape my throat, and I pushed my chin up with as much dignity as I could muster.

"I am not a child, Guinevere," I said firmly. "I do not need father to tell me what to do."

Guinevere smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. She seemed unusually distant from everything, and I knew that something was wrong. Rather than ask her, however, I decided to keep my suspicions to myself, and instead busied myself in staring out the front of the carriage, watching Bors's straight-backed dignity giving way to grief and despair slowly as we moved along.


	9. C9: Do Not Befriend Him

Chapter 9. Whoo.

Just thought I'd renew the disclaimer. I still don't own anything except my imaginary friend and Fuliciana.

* * *

Chapter 9: Do Not Befriend Him

It was later in the night when Guinevere appeared in the carriage after several hours away, whispering to me that father wished to see me. I thanked her and made my way out to the woods.

I was walking into the woods, when I heard something shift behind me. For half-a-moment, I was startled, and I gave a slight jump of surprise.

"Somehow, frightening you wasn't as satisfying as I thought it would be," said Lancelot with a sad smile, appearing out of the darkness with his face cast in shadows and his eyes glinting, reflecting the moonlight beautifully.

"You did not frighten me," I said breathlessly. "You merely...startled me."

"I startled you?" Lancelot asked, tilting his head and nodding at me. "Then I'll have to settle with that, then, won't I?"

"I suppose you will," I said, trying to keep my voice level, but ending up making it colder than I meant for it to be. Inwardly berating myself for being so heartless, I turned and began to walk deeper into the woods.

"Wait!" Lancelot exclaimed, sounding so desperate that it caused me to falter, and I turned to face him impatiently. When I saw the expression on his face, however, all my impatience dissipated, and I felt an overwhelming soft spot growing in the pit of my stomach for him. "Where are you going?"

"I am going to speak with my father," I said softly, taking a half-a-step towards Lancelot absently.

"There could be Saxons in the woods," Lancelot said, his eyes wide.

"Yes, and I have killed Saxons before, Lancelot. If the need arises, I will kill them again."

"Should I travel with you? To..."

"To protect me? No, Lancelot. I assure you, I will be perfectly fine. Your protection is not needed."

Lancelot looked at the ground and nodded slowly, looking like a dejected child who has just been scolded for doing something particularly silly. I reached my hand out and placed it on Lancelot's arm gently but firmly enough to let him know I could stand on my own two feet without falling on my backside.

"I will wait out here for you, then," Lancelot murmured quietly, staring into my eyes with such intensity that I felt my wall of anger and hatred that I had been building for my entire life slowly start to crumble. Amazing that this knight could do it with just one look. This knight. This man. This infuriating, handsome, impish, tragic man.

"Wait if you will, Lancelot," I said, smiling nervously and restraining myself from flinging my arms around his neck and smothering his lips with mine in that very moment. "But I may not return until late."

"Then I will wait until morning," Lancelot said, still staring at me and showing no sign of dropping the seriousness for the playfulness that we were both so comfortable with. "If you need my help, just call for me."

"Lancelot," I said with a troubled grin. "Are you feeling well? I..."

"I don't want you to be harmed," Lancelot said, and then turned and walked away from me slowly, his shoulders slumped and weary as one hand reached back and ruffled his own curls. I considered calling for him to wait, but I was anxious to see my father, so I turned away somewhat reluctantly and walked deeper into the woods.

* * *

I had not been walking for long when I heard a twig snap behind me, and my father appeared like a ghostly apparition, grinning at me warmly.

"Fuliciana," he said, enfolding me into his arms before I could move or say anything. I noticed the slight limp he had, and I winced as I thought of Lancelot. "I see you have healed from your arrow wound. Guinevere was afraid you would not ever heal."

"I can hardly believe I have healed so well myself," I said, smiling politely. "It must be a gift from the Gods."

"It must be," my father said, but his smile was pained. "Tell me, Fuliciana. How have you been feeling? Guinevere says that you are withdrawn within yourself much of the time, hardly talking to her."

"I am hardly withdrawn," I said with a laugh as I thought of all the time I spent speaking with Lancelot and Tristan before the incident on the ice. And Dagonet as well, before he was killed.

"Why do you laugh? This is hardly a matter to take lightly," my father said coldly, and I stopped my laughter, feeling the need to explain myself.

"Guinevere does not spend her time with me, father. In fact, I see her speaking with the Roman commander more often. I myself have other people I would rather speak with."

"Rather than your own sister?" my father asked, his eyebrows raising. "And who, if I may ask, are these people?"

"People," I replied with a forced smile. "Two of the knights I am particularly close to."

"Are you?" my father asked, looking amused and only slightly annoyed. "What are their names?"

"Lancelot and Tristan," I said, grinning.

"Lancelot," said my father, looking thoughtful. "I fought a young man named Lancelot once."

"I know," I said quietly. "It is the same."

"He did not die, then? I expected him to freeze in the cold before the others could get there."

I felt my face turning crimson, and I was glad for the lack of light that hid it.

"The Gods must have given him the gift of life as well," I replied with a forced grin. My father nodded.

"But why, knowing that it was he who gave me this limp, did you befriend him, Fuliciana?"

"It is not his fault, father, that you carry the limp. It is not his fault he was forced to fight you."

"Ah, so you blame the Romans? Many things are blamed on the Romans, Fuliciana. It is easy to blame things on the Romans."

"The Romans are to blame for many of the things they are blamed for," I pointed out, and my father laughed.

"That is very true, Fuliciana. I just do not understand how you can look the knight in the face and think of anything other than me."

The self-absorption and anger that was in my father's words startled me, and I backed up a few steps, my eyebrows rising in surprise.

"I can think of things other than you, father, because I do not allow my mind to be consumed with thoughts of past wars!"

My father could sense my anger and annoyance, and he tried to laugh it off, but I knew better than to laugh with him.

"Father, why do you want Arthur to lead?" I asked, finding it better to change the subject.

"That was Merlin's idea. It was not mine."

"But you agreed to it."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Arthur is a strong leader. The men have been complaining amongst themselves that we need a strong leader, one who fights and does not simply stand about, delivering premonitions."

My eyebrows came up in surprise, and my father shrugged slightly.

"What did Merlin say to these...accusations?"

"He suggested Arthur."

"So that is why Guinevere has been following Arthur around? You plan on using her to get to him?"

"Somewhat," my father said, shrugging yet again. "We did not tell her to follow him as closely as she is. We merely told her to get him interested, and I see you have been doing that job with the other knights."

"Do you want them to fight the Saxons as well, then?"

"The more warriors we have..."

"No, father. Do not even allow the thought into your head. Lancelot and the others will be free soon, and they will not stay and fight for a cause that is not their own!"

"They will if you befriend them enough..."

"I am not Guinevere, father! I will not deceive them into fighting for me!"

My father sighed heavily, and he sat down on a log that was nearby. He patted it, signaling for me to sit down, but I pretended not to notice the invitation.

"Fuliciana, I am only thinking of what is best for us, our people, and you, whether you see it or not."

"Well, it is kind of you to look after me, father," I said, feeling my eyes and voice soften against my will. "But if you truly want to look out for me, then you will not order me to put my new friends in danger."

"I will not order you," my father said, sighing yet again. "I am merely going to suggest."

"Well, I think you might find that I do not follow your suggestion, father," I said.

"Fine. I was _merely suggesting_."

"Fine."

There was a long silence, in which my father looked blankly at the ground, his mouth working as if he were trying to think of something to say, but not finding the right words to explain his emotions.

"Fuliciana, about that knight..."

"Lancelot? His father gave him a name for a reason."

"Fine. Lancelot. This...Lancelot. I do not want you to...befriend him further."

"And why not, father? Is there a reason other than your own selfish pride?"

"I do not trust him."

"Well...I do," I said, frowning and crossing my arms across my chest. "If you do not trust him, then you do not have to befriend him."

"Fuliciana..."

"Father! I am not a child any longer! I can make my own decisions with who to befriend and who to avoid! Besides, Lancelot is not the only person I have been befriending. I befriended the wife of the man who captured me! Do you trust her?"

"She has not done me harm!"

"Ah," I said, tilting my head at him with a knowing smile. "So is that the reason you do not want me to be friends with Sir Lancelot."

"No. That is not the only reason."

"Father, I do not wish to talk about Lancelot now. Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?"

"No. Return to the carriage, daughter. I no longer desire to speak with you. You have made me angry."

"The anger is returned, father," I growled, and I stormed in the direction of the camp.


	10. C10: The Perfect Man

Chappie 10! Woot! Read and review my lovely readers and reviewers!

* * *

Chapter 10: The Perfect Man

Halfway out of the woods, I met Lancelot, who was quietly picking his way through the brush.

"What are you doing?" I asked him, arching an eyebrow. He smiled at me shamefacedly.

"You were taking a long time," he said, falling into step with me. "I was beginning to worry."

"I hardly took a long time," I remarked as we neared the lights. Lancelot stopped, and pulled my arm so I stopped as well.

"But I was worried for you," Lancelot said quietly. I pretended not to take the hint that he was trying to shove into my face.

"Well thank you for your concern, Lancelot, really," I said impatiently. I had an overwhelming desire to just run back to the carriage and cry my eyes out over the conversation that I had just had with my father, but I was not going to cry in front of Lancelot.

"Fuliciana, I..." Lancelot said, shifting uncomfortably. "You never told me what Tristan said in the woods to you that night."

"He said that you sometimes end up hurting those you only wish to befriend."

Lancelot grinned.

"Ah, Tristan must like you. He would have given you a very cryptic answer otherwise."

"Was your message cryptic?"

"Tristan never liked me much."

"How could anyone _not _like you, Lancelot?" I asked playfully. Lancelot grinned, and I did not miss the hopeful glint in his eyes.

"You did not like me for a while, might I remind you."

"Yes, well, I have not known you for fifteen years."

"Perhaps Tristan is slower at recognizing a good man when he sees one. Is that what you are suggesting?"

I laughed and started walking again, motioning for Lancelot to follow me. We started walking again, and we reached a tree on the outskirts of camp, where Lancelot stopped and pulled my arm so I would stop as well.

"Tristan told me that some men stick to ale because it is what everyone else drinks, but some men venture to wine because they know that despite everyone else's taunting about not being able to handle ale, that wine simply tastes better."

I immediately knew what Tristan had been talking about, and I laughed incredulously.

"Why would Tristan tell you this?" I asked. Lancelot just smirked playfully at me, and I sighed with mock exasperation, throwing up my hands.

"Men!" I exclaimed. Lancelot laughed. "Lancelot, you are right, Tristan truly is a mystery. He obviously doesn't know what kind of man attracts me."

Lancelot gave me an expression of mock shock, and I turned and started walking back to the carriage. As soon as I was halfway there, I turned and saw Lancelot looking at me, shaking his head. I flashed a hopefully seductive smile in his direction, and then continued on to the carriage.

* * *

When I got to the carriage, Guinevere was waiting for me. When she saw me, she looked surprised.

"That did not take as long as I thought it would," she remarked, sitting up in her bed.

"Well, father and I became angry," I said. "So he sent me away."

Guinevere laughed, shaking her head slowly.

"You and father never could never be alone for more than a few moments before you began tearing at each other's throats," she said. I laughed humorlessly. Guinevere saw my discomfort, and she stood up, making her way over to me. "What made you angry?" she asked, almost nervously.

I looked at her and then at the ground. When I had been walking back to the carriage, my mind had filled with all sorts of things that I wanted to say to her when I got back. I had wanted to tell her that I thought she was a worthless whore for leading Arthur along so he would lead our people into victory. I had wanted to express my pity for the knights and for their situation. I had wanted to say _so _many things to her, but now that I had the chance...I couldn't. Perhaps it was the worry in her eyes that stopped me, or perhaps it was the fact that I wasn't sure about my relationship with Lancelot, and I didn't want to go talking about it just yet.

So, I just shrugged and sat down on my bed, pulling my knees up to my chin and regarding Guinevere silently, looking her over. Calculating. Watching. She looked back, confused and probably wondering what had happened in the woods to make me so sad and forlorn. Finally, I took a deep breath and spoke.

"It is father," I began, shrugging again. "Like you said, we can hardly be alone for mere minutes."

Guinevere nodded slowly, her chin in her hand as she gazed at me, trying to figure out if I was hiding something. After what seemed like forever, she nodded and got back into her bed.

"Do you wish to talk anymore, sister, or do you just wish to go to bed?"

"I will sleep, now," I said. Guinevere nodded, and I lay down, staring at the roof of the carriage unblinkingly.

I thought about Lancelot, naturally. What else was there to think of? Well, I could have been thinking of the Saxons, or of my father or Guinevere, but somehow that always led back to the heartbreakingly handsome knight who had rescued me from the temple of Marius Honorius. Everything led to him, it seemed. Every thought seemed to be linked to him in some way, so that his face would pop up in my mind, and I would be forced to think about him, however much I tried not to.

So, lying there and staring at the ceiling, I decided that I would think of Lancelot and finally straighten out my thoughts considering the man. At first, I had been sure that the man was an absolute pig, and that my assumptions about him on the battlefield when he had fought my father were wrong. As time wore on, however, Lancelot proved to be a very complicated man. I wasn't sure whether to hate him or adore him for his cocky attitude and his brash demeanor. I wasn't even sure if his behavior was the real Lancelot or merely a façade for the kind, sad man that I had caught glimpses of.

Lancelot was definitely someone that I could afford to get to know better. With his soulful brown eyes and perfect black curls, he was the very epitome of a perfect man. If his dominating personality turned out to be merely an act...that would certainly be good news for me, as if would make everything so much less complicated.


	11. C11: Love Doesn't Need Years

I'm so close to the end I can taste it! Mmmmm...

* * *

Chapter 11

The next morning, I awoke feeling restless and uneasy, and I had to rise, despite the fact that Guinevere was still sleeping and I could not hear anyone else about either.

I wrapped a blanket around myself and I walked out into the dim sunlight, squinting my eyes only slightly. There were a few servants scurrying about, but no one I was interested in talking with. Suddenly, I heard someone behind me. I spun around, too disoriented to draw my dagger, and saw with relief that it was Tristan. He smirked at me and stepped closer, leaning against a tree that was conveniently placed beside me.

"Hello, Tristan," I said with a wry smile. "I should have known that you would be awake."

"Well, I didn't get much sleep last night," Tristan said, shrugging.

"Neither did I, but at least you don't look it," I remarked, gesturing to Tristan's appearance. He looked as if he had slept the entire night in a warm bed under loads of blankets.

"Fifteen years of sleeping an hour a night, and one learns to deal with it," Tristan said with another shrug. I smiled and nodded, and there was an awkward silence, so I broke it.

"I spoke with my father last night," I said, but Tristan never gave me a chance to continue.

"I know," he said. "I was there."

Somehow, I knew I should be angry that Tristan had been spying in on my conversation, but I was only greatly amused. I laughed, and Tristan looked at me oddly. Obviously he expected me to be angry as well.

"Why?" I asked, smiling. "Did you think I couldn't handle myself against Saxons in the woods?"

"No," Tristan said, his face emotionless. "I just wanted to hear what he had to say."

"Ah, so you were close enough to hear."

"Yes."

There was another long silence in which I waited for Tristan to say something, anything.

"And what did you think of what he had to say?"

Tristan looked at me and smiled. It was the first real smile I had seen from the man that wasn't a smirk.

"I heard your... declaration," he said.

"If you...if you warn Arthur of what Guinevere is doing...then I...I will take responsibility.

Tristan snorted derisively and shook his head incredulously at me.

"I see Merlin's reasoning," he said. "As much as I hate to admit that he's right, I see it. You and your people _need _Arthur."

"We do," I admitted reluctantly. "Desperately so. But...I just...I don't want..."

"I know what you are saying," Tristan said comfortingly. "I will not get involved with what Merlin wants to do. I'll let the bastard do what he wants.

"Even if it would mean the death of Arthur?"

"Arthur will not die," Tristan said simply. "Arthur can not die."

And with that, Tristan walked away, into the woods. I watched him until he was completely obscured by the underbrush, and then I slid down the tree trunk to the ground, sighing heavily.

I had_ wanted _Tristan to warn Arthur, truthfully...but yet, I did not. It was almost as if I knew that Tristan wouldn't tell Arthur, so I told him rather than Lancelot, who most certainly would.

"Damn, he's right," I whispered to myself, the 'he' in the sentence being my father. "But I will not risk Lancelot and Tristan."

"Talking to yourself, now, are you?" asked a voice from right in front of me. I looked up and saw Guinevere, smiling down on my with a warmness that I had never seen her give to anyone, not even me.

"I was thinking aloud," I said with mock indignation. Guinevere laughed and seated herself beside me.

"I heard you," she said. "Did father ask you to do to Lancelot and Tristan what I have been doing to Arthur?"

"Somewhat," I said. "He told me to befriend them to the point where they would follow me into battle rather than let me fight alone."

"Well, at least he didn't tell you to make them fall in love with you."

Guinevere sighed and looked out at the carriages, her eyes vacant.

"You must think me a worthless whore," she said sadly. My eyes widened as she spoke aloud the very thoughts I had been thinking of her. "I've been stringing Arthur along, leading him closer and closer to loving me. I want you to know, sister, that I _do _love him."

"What?" I asked incredulously. "You...you love him?"

"Yes. Very much so."

"You've only just met him!"

"Sometimes, Fuliciana, love does not need years to grow. Sometimes, it only needs days."

Guinevere started to stand, and then she stopped.

"By the way," she said. "You're certainly doing a good enough job of making Lancelot fall in love with you, however unintentionally."

I looked at her, my eyes wide, and then I narrowed them in confusion.

"What do you mean?" I asked her. She sighed almost contentedly and pulled me up so I was standing as well.

"When you ran out there, Fuliciana, Lancelot tried to run after you. Arthur stopped him, and he ran out himself."

I dimly remembered Arthur shouting at me to stay awake, so I nodded.

"Then, when you were shot..." Guinevere said, sighing heavily as if talking of it caused her a great pain. "When you were shot...he tried to run out after you. He had to be held back by Galahad _and _Gawain."

I stared at Guinevere, not able to process exactly what she was saying in my shock.

"He..." I said, but I fell silent and did not finish, staring at Guinevere with my mouth open.

"I was impressed by his concern for you," Guinevere said, smiling at me almost sadly. "Though it seems that father was not."

"No," I said, slightly dazed. Guinevere laughed to herself and embraced me lightly before turning and walking off, probably to find Arthur somewhere. I just stood where I was, my eyes seeking out Lancelot.

So _that_ was why he had looked so desperate in the woods when I had gone to meet my father. That was why he had wanted to follow me. He couldn't stand the thought of me being hurt. Why? Because he loved me.

I think it was in that moment that I realized that I loved Lancelot as well. The night before, in the carriage, I had not even considered the possibility that I could be in love with the man. I had not thought that I _could _love him, knowing him for so little a time, but after what Guinevere said, I realized that she was right, and that love _didn't _need years to grow.

"I love him," I whispered aloud, the shock plain in my voice. "I do."

I looked around and saw Lancelot standing beside Bors, talking to him comfortingly. He almost seemed to sense me watching him, and he turned and looked directly at me, his eyes boring into mine with a greater sadness than there had ever been.


	12. C12: I Cannot Go With You

Read on!

* * *

Chapter 12: I Cannot Go With You

We arrived at the wall later that day. I spent much of my day in the carriage with Guinevere, avoiding Lancelot by pretending to be asleep. Guinevere laughed at my childishness, but she did not advise me against it.

I was still feigning sleep when we entered the wall, and when we pulled into the square. As soon as we got there, however, I got up and walked to the entrance of the carriage, watching the sight from where I stood as we moved further into the square. A pompous, overly dressed Roman holy man stood in the center, beaming proudly.

"Ah! Good!" he exclaimed, turning to look at everyone. "Christ be praised! Against all the odds Satan could possibly...Alecto!"

He moved towards Marius's young son, his arms open wide as he smiled at the boy.

"Let me see you! You have triumphed! Young Alecto! Let me see you! You are here!"

Alecto walked past the pompous rat, and the man looked after him, confusion on his face. At that moment, Lucan leapt off the carriage and ran towards Dagonet's body, which was still tied to his horse. Guinevere ran after him, shouting his name.

"You, boy!" exclaimed a Roman soldier, drawing his weapon, but Galahad and Gawain drew their own swords, preventing the men from harming Lucan, who was running to Dagonet's horse.

He stopped in front of the horse and gently reached out, touching the frozen hand that hung beneath the blanket that covered Dagonet's body. I felt my throat close up, and my hand flew to my throat, a small sob escaping me as I watched Lucan pull a ring off the dead man's finger, holding it in his hand and turning it over, looking at it with tears in his eyes.

Guinevere looked at me, and I could see the pain and anguish for the fallen knight on her face. She had never before understood my pity for the knights, but now she was getting a taste of what I felt whenever one of their own was killed.

"Great knights!" exclaimed the Bishop, chuckling nervously. Everyone's eyes turned to him, all of them angry. The only one who did not look was Bors. He stood staring straight ahead with tears running down his face. "You are free now! Give me the papers. Come, come!"

The Bishop took a box from a soldier and held it up so the papers faced the knights. He chuckled nervously again, and his eyes darted from me and Guinevere to the knights in turn, to Dagonet and Lucan, and to Arthur.

"Your papers of safe conduct throughout the Roman Empire! Take it, Arthur."

Arthur stepped forward, his eye glinting dangerously and his mouth curling up into a contemptuous sneer.

"Bishop Germanius," he said, stepping uncomfortably close to the bishop. "Friend of my father."

With that, Arthur pushed past the bishop and strode into the fort, his countenance chiseled into anger and hatred that I never expected to see on his face.

Lancelot stepped forward and took the papers from the box, ripping them out of it as if he were ripping his swords out of the scabbards on his back. He began to pass them out to the knights, and at one point his eyes met mine, cold and sad. I nodded at him, and he nodded back, quickly looking away.

He passed the deeds out until he held only three; one for himself, one for Bors, and the deed that had been intended for Dagonet. He held the last two out for Bors, but Bors did not move, he only stared ahead, his mouth moving silently.

"Bors," Lancelot said, waiting patiently. Bors still did not respond, so Lancelot pressed the deeds into Bors's chest forcedly. "Bors!" Bors looked down at the shorter man, his hand coming up and closing over the two papers. "For Dagonet."

Bors took the deeds, and he faced the bishop, the endless grief in his face replaced by a hatred and anger so fierce that the Bishop took a half-a-step back, fearing for his own safety.

"He doesn't need this to be a free man!" Bors exclaimed, looking around at all of the knights and Guinevere and I. "He's already a free man!" With that, Bors threw his papers at the feet of the bishop. "He's dead!"

Bors stalked off, wiping angry tears from his eyes. I stepped down from the carriage and watched as Gawain and Galahad stepped forward, picking up the papers that Bors had thrown. Tristan stepped forward as well, taking the box from the Roman soldier and inspecting it closely before taking it and walking off with the others after a nod in my direction. Guinevere and Lucan walked off, so only Lancelot, the bishop, and I were left behind.

I walked out into the center of the square, moving towards Lancelot. I felt the bishop's eyes on my as I walked, and I wondered if he knew I was a Woad.

"Lancelot," I said as I reached him.

"Fuliciana," Lancelot said in reply. "I need to talk with you."

"Oh?" I asked, my eyebrows rising.

"Yes," Lancelot said, and he walked towards me, completely ignoring the Bishop's presence.

"Where?" I asked. Lancelot glanced at the Bishop angrily, as if wondering when the man was going to stop staring at us so we could talk. The bishop seemed to take Lancelot's hint, and he hurried away, muttering something under his breath that I couldn't make out.

"Fuliciana," said Lancelot, sighing heavily. "I spoke with Guinevere this morning."

"Oh?" I said, thinking only of how Guinevere was trying to trick Arthur into joining the battle against the Saxons.

"She has asked...suggested that you...you journey with me, to Sarmatia."

"What?" I asked incredulously, staring at Lancelot with shock. Lancelot hastened to explain.

"She does not want to chance you being lost in battle," he said. "She wants you to find safety and happiness, and she thinks you will find both of them with me."

"Lancelot..." I began, frowning slightly. "I..."

"Please, Fuliciana," Lancelot begged me, taking my hand in his and squeezing it. "Please consider it."

"No," I said, sounding surprised. To be honest, I _was _surprised at what I was saying. "No, Lancelot. I cannot go with you."

Lancelot dropped my hand in his shock, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of what to say.

"I'm sorry," I said, and I turned and fled the square.


	13. C13: Does it all count for Nothing?

SOOOOOOO close! It's nine thirty at night, and I'm going on pure motivation! Tired...but must finish! Argh!

* * *

Chapter 13: Does It All Count For Nothing?

Later in the day, when the sun was nearly gone, Guinevere and I sat in our small room as Guinevere brushed my hair.

"I spoke with Lancelot today," she said absently.

"I know," I said coldly. "I spoke with him as well."

Guinevere put down the brush, and I turned to face her, my eyes narrowed nearly to slits and my head cocked to one side, waiting for an explanation.

"I was only attempting to help you, sister," Guinevere said, sighing heavily. "I do not miss the way you watch Lancelot, and I did not miss the look on your face when I told you he tried to run after you on the ice. You love him. That much is all too clear."

"Perhaps I do love him," I said sadly. "But I cannot leave Briton."

"Why not?" Guinevere asked forcefully.

"Did you think I would leave you to fight without me by your side?" I asked Guinevere, and my eyebrows rose again. "I am a more than capable fighter, sister. I will help the army greatly."

"Fuliciana, I do not doubt your strength in battle. You are worth ten men of father's elite guard! I am merely looking out for you."

"Well, you need not. I am not going."

"Would you at least consider it?"

"No. I am not considering anything. I am not leaving, and that is all I have to say on the matter."

Guinevere was silent for a long time, just looking at the bed sheets with a saddened expression. Finally, she looked up at me, and I saw that her eyes bore a great pain.

"They leave tomorrow morning," she whispered. "The knights. They leave tomorrow morning."

I felt like an arrow had just pierced my heart, and I gaped at Guinevere, my mouth working but my throat refusing to make any sound. I had known that the knights were leaving soon, but I had not known it would be the night after we returned to the fort! Thinking of Lancelot and realizing that I would never see him again filled me with such pain and sadness that I could not fight back the tears that prickled in my eyes.

"You are trying to make me go," I said, sniffling only slightly. "But it will not work, Guinevere."

Guinevere sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling, thinking for a moment before she brought her head back down so she could look at me.

"I only want you to be happy," she whispered, and for the first time I realized that Guinevere really and truly loved me.

Always, Guinevere had been better than me. She had been loved and adored by everyone around us, and I had been cast to the side mercilessly to fend for myself. Throughout the years, I thought that Guinevere's little acts of kindness were her way of bragging to me and showing me that she was a better person than I was. Only as we sat on my bed that night did I realize that the little acts of kindness were really because she loved me.

"I love you, Guinevere," I sobbed, flinging my arms around her neck and pulling her close to me. She sobbed as well, and her arms encircled me as she cried into my hair, mumbling words that were lost in the curls.

"Fuliciana," she whispered, after a while of just crying together. "You are far braver than I ever knew. You have a chance for a better life...and yet you forsake that for your people."

"For you," I said. "Damn our people. I'm doing this for you."

Guinevere nodded, and she realized at the exact moment that I did that she was all I had ever had in life.

* * *

I don't know how much longer it was until there was a knock on the door, and Lancelot's voice called through, bidding us to come to the wall. Guinevere opened the door and shook her head ever-so-slightly at Lancelot; he nodded back just as subtly, and looked at me, bit eyes pleading with me. I just pushed past him and hurried after Guinevere, trying to force the lump in my throat to dissipate before I burst into tears in front of everyone.

We reached the wall with Arthur a bit later. Lancelot placed his hand on my back as I looked out at the fires below, hundreds of them, sparkling in the distance like orange stars. I stared at them for a long while, before I finally pulled back to let Guinevere look, and I stood next to Lancelot, not bothering to remove his arm.

As Arthur looked out, I could see the sorrow and indecision in his face. He glanced at Guinevere out of the corner of his eye, and then looked to Lancelot and I, and past us to where the other knights stood. Finally, he heaved a great sigh and straightened, staring at us all with a very serious expression.

"Knights," he began solemnly. "My journey with you ends here. May God go with you."

Lancelot sighed and slumped against the stone wall, his eyes staring vacantly out into the night. Guinevere glanced at me, and her eyes spoke volumes. She would understand if I went with Lancelot the next morning, despite all I had said. I shook my head firmly, but I'm certain she saw the indecision in my eyes.

Suddenly, Lancelot started after Arthur, who was walking down the stairs and back towards the fort.

"Arthur!" he cried. Arthur stopped and faced him. "This is not Rome's fight. It is not _your _fight. All these long years we've been together, the trials we've faces, the blood we've shed...what was it all for, if not for the reward of freedom?" Guinevere and I reached the bottom of the stairs and stood watching Lancelot and Arthur standing in the middle of a crowd of curious peasants. Lancelot's eyes burned into Arthur's, but Arthur's face remained impassive and emotionless, and I could see that it was killing Lancelot inside. "And now that we are so close! When it is finally in our grasp...look at me!"

Lancelot grabbed Arthur so the Roman finally looked down at him, his face softening just enough so I could see that Lancelot's speech was killing him inside as well.

"Does it all count for nothing?" Lancelot stared at Arthur, who took only a moment to reply.

"You ask me that," he said coldly. "You who know me best of all?"

He turned and started to walk away, but Lancelot was not satisfied.

"The do not do this!" he yelled, following Arthur. "Only certain death awaits you here. Arthur! I beg you! For our friendship's sake, I beg you!"

Arthur turned and placed his hand behind Lancelot's neck, his hand resting in the curls gently.

"You be my friend now and do not dissuade me," he said, barely audible. "Seize the freedom you have earned and live it for the both of us. "I now know that all the lives I have taken, all the blood that I've shed, has led me to this moment. I cannot follow you, Lancelot."

With those words, Lancelot's eyes met his commander's, and I could see the shock and understanding in them. Arthur was saying goodbye. Arthur had no hope that he would survive to see his knights again. Arthur soothingly touched Lancelot's cheek, and then started to walk away. Lancelot reached for Arthur's arm, but it slipped out of his grasp, and he stood there, shoulders slumped in defeat and eyes glimmering with tears stubbornly held at bay.

It felt like forever that he stood there, and everyone watched him slowly crumble inside. I wanted to walk up to him and touch his face and whisper to him that Arthur would be fine, but I could not. I could not lead him on and let him know that I loved him, only to have him leave without me the next morning.

So I fled. I turned and ran into the darkness, through the crowds of people, away from Lancelot and Guinevere and all the knights who watched me with a great sadness as if their hearts were breaking. I ran until I was shrouded in darkness, and then I walked, one hand on the wall, further and further. Finally, I stopped, and I sat down, my back against the wall, just staring in front of me, tears streaming down my face.


	14. C14: I Will Be Yours Forever

Almost done! Woot!

* * *

Chapter 14: Come With Me, and I Will Be Yours Forever

"Why have you let your heart become a prisoner of this boy's will?" asked a cold, cruel voice from in front of me. It was my father. "Why have you let this boy control you?"

"My heart is no prisoner, father," I said, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. "My heart loves Lancelot of its own free will!"

My father laughed, and I felt the tears spilling over my eyes, falling down my cheeks and leaving trails of moisture that chilled in the cold night air.

"You disobeyed me and befriended this knight," my father said, his voice sneering clearer than any expression ever could. "And so you suffer. How fitting."

I began to silently shake with sobs, trying desperately to remain quiet so my father would not hear me. If he were to hear me, my shame would be great, for he would know that I loved Lancelot enough to cry for him, when I had not cried for anyone in a long while.

"Leave me, father," I managed, proud that my voice sounded relatively normal. "Just leave me, please."

My father laughed, the sound echoing cruelly in my ears. Unable to bear it any longer, I ran back from where I came, my body shaking with sobs and tears flying in every direction. I still heard my father laughing even when I entered the square, where Tristan, Galahad, and Gawain sat at a lone table, talking quietly.

When they saw me, all three stood and bowed low, their faces serious.

"He is not here, lady," Gawain remarked. I nodded with a small sigh.

"I can see that, Gawain, thank you," I said. "I was not looking for him."

"Oh?" Galahad asked, his eyebrows raised.

"I was just..."

I looked back towards the woods, and in my disorientation thought I saw my father's face peering at me out of the darkness. When I blinked, however, he was gone, and I dismissed it nervously as my imagination playing cruel tricks.

"I'm heading back up to bed," I said with a sigh, turning away from them and starting to walk away. Tristan's hand rested on my arm.

"Are you feeling well?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, smiling up at him tenderly. "I'm feeling fine. Thank you, Tristan."

Tristan nodded and released my arm, and I headed back to my room, through the winding corridors, tripping once or twice in my fatigue and carelessness.

When I finally reached my room, I realized with no small amount of amusement that Guinevere was not there. It did not take much brainpower to guess where she was, and for me to know that she wouldn't be back until morning, if at all.

Suddenly, I became aware of a presence behind me, and I whirled around, expecting to see my father standing behind me, grinning. Instead, I saw Lancelot, his eyes reflecting the candlelight and dancing with sadness and unshed tears. He stood there in the doorway, looking at me, his breathing heavy, as if he was wounded. We stood there, with me watching him and he watching me, until Lancelot turned to go, his shoulders slumping even more than they had been before, if that was at all possible.

"Lancelot!" I cried, breaking out of my tired stupor and racing towards Lancelot. As he turned, I flung my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder as I cried. "Lancelot."

Lancelot was too stunned to move for a few moments, and then his arms tentatively encircled my waist as he pulled me close to him, kissing my hair gently. We stood there for a while, until finally my sobs transformed to hiccups, and Lancelot gently pulled away from me.

"Fuliciana..." Lancelot began, but I cut him off.

"Lancelot, I'm sorry," I whispered, hanging my head. "I just could not bear to cause you anymore pain."

"Then do not stay!" Lancelot exclaimed feverishly. "I can not bear the thought of you..."

He broke off and sighed heavily, his hand pressed against his forehead. He stood there for a long while, just watching me. Then, he turned to leave.

"Lancelot," I whispered, trying to control my tears again. "I'm sorry."

Lancelot stopped, and then he turned back, looking at me with something I had never seen in anyone's eyes. It was a desperate, passionate love that resided there, the kind of love that one has for their dying lover. In truth, I was dying in Lancelot's eyes, for neither of us had any hope that I would make it through the battle that was to come.

Lancelot stepped towards me until he was standing in front of me, so close that when his chest rose and fell with breath, it lightly grazed my own. He looked down at me, his eyes reflecting the slow breaking of his heart, and he sighed lightly. I did not know what he was going to do next, but I did not expect him to bend his head down and place his lips on mine, burning and passionate.

I placed my hands flat on his chest and pushed him away, but did not remove my hands. They clung to his tunic, white-knuckled and shaking. I looked up at Lancelot, my mouth working with confusion. His eyes looked down on me, sad and hurt. Without another thought as to how painful the next morning would be, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back, pushing against him with such passion and desperation that he was forced to take an involuntary half-step back.

His hands found their way around my waist, and he held me gently, protecting me, his lips exploring my neck and face. I moved my hands up to his curls, delicately combing my hands through them, not trying to hide the tears any longer. Lancelot was mine for the night, and there was no use hiding my tears from him.

"I love you," whispered Lancelot against my ear suddenly, and he pressed his lips to mine briefly before pulling away to speak again. "I do. I love you."

"I love you as well," I whispered, cupping his cheek in one hand and looking into his glimmering eyes. "I do."

Our lips met with new passion, and I slowly began moving towards my large bed, pulling Lancelot with me without breaking the contact of our lips. Lancelot looked down at me, and he pulled away for a moment.

"Are you certain...?" he asked, but I shushed him with a finger to his lips.

"How many barmaids have you bedded in your lifetime, Lancelot?" I asked. When he did not answer, I answered for him. "Many, no doubt. Have you ever hesitated?"

"No," Lancelot answered guiltily.

"Then do not hesitate with me," I whispered, bringing my lips closer to his.

"But I did not love the barmaids," Lancelot replied just as quietly. Both of us were afraid to break this beautiful, magical moment, and for a short moment we stood there, shaking with our respective passion and desire, before our lips met once more, and we practically tumbled onto the bed, already working together to slide his tunic off of him.

I pulled it off and carelessly dropped it on the floor, my hands running over his back tenderly, feeling at the scars as if I had no sight. There were so many of them there. So many.

Lancelot tasted my new tears, and he knew that they were for him. He smirked uncomfortably and placed my hand on the center of his chest.

"The scar you made is here," he whispered. "But I feel no pain from that scar, only peace and bliss."

I looked down at the blankets, grinning a bit despite my sadness. Lancelot pulled my chin up and kissed both of my cheeks, cleaning away the tears.

"I can not bear to ever let you go," I whispered, my hands clinging to his muscular forearms. He smiled at me and placed his hands on my hips, leaning forward so his forehead lightly rested on mine.

"Then come with me," he whispered brokenly. "Do not stay here. Come with me, and I will be yours forever. You will never have to let me go. Ever."

I shook my head sadly, unable to speak. I could not go with Lancelot to Sarmatia, but it killed me inside to stay behind, knowing that he was going to go through the rest of his life in pain because of me.

"I can't," I whispered finally, the tears and anguish heavy in my voice. "I'm sorry, Lancelot, but I...I can't."

Lancelot nodded sadly and leaned forward, pressing me back until I lay on the pillow with him propped up on one elbow beside me.

"Then we will make the most of tonight," he said, kissing me lightly. "I will treasure the memory."

I looked into Lancelot's eyes, and I saw that he was crying. He was trying to hide it, but he was crying for me nonetheless, and I suddenly felt guiltier than I had felt in a very long time.


	15. C15: This is Not Your Battle!

Fifteen! Lucky number! Woot!

* * *

Chapter 15: This is Not Your Battle!

Later that night, I lay in Lancelot's embrace, my head resting on his chest and my arms around his waist as his arm lazily rested across my shoulders.

"Are you cold?" he asked me sleepily. I shook my head and nuzzled deeper into Lancelot's flesh. Nevertheless, Lancelot pulled the thick blankets tighter around us. I looked up at him and smiled in thanks. He shrugged in reply.

"I wish the sun would fall out of the sky so it could stay night forever," I murmured. Lancelot made a small noise of agreement and opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it reluctantly. "I am sorry, Lancelot."

"For what?" Lancelot asked, grinning. "You did just fine. In fact, I'd go so far as to say you were the best I've ever had."

"No!" I exclaimed slapping his arm softly and giggling slightly. "That's not what I meant!"

"Then what are you sorry for?" Lancelot asked, serious once more.

"I'm sorry that I can't go with you."

"You could."

"I could, but I can't."

"Well, that doesn't make any sense!"

"It does if you think about it."

"Well...I suppose it does, but I just want you to come with me."

I sat up slowly, and Lancelot groaned as he sat up with reluctance.

"Lancelot, if I went with you, I doubt I would be able to smile, really smile, ever again. I would constantly be thinking of Guinevere and my father and Merlin and all the people I've known and grown up with! I would be living a half-life, Lancelot. I do not want to burden you with me! I have no other choice than to stay and fight!"

Lancelot leaned forward and grabbed my shoulders almost roughly, staring me in the eyes intensely.

"Do you think I can lead a full life knowing that you are dead?" he asked me in a trembling whisper. "Do you think that anything I do will not remind me of you and this moment? This night? Do you think that I will _ever _be able to do _anything _without thinking of you?"

Lancelot was shaking with ardor, and he held onto my shoulders tightly, showing no sign of letting go.

"I am sorry, Lancelot," I whispered, tears falling freely from my eyes. "I did not mean for you to love me as I loved you."

Lancelot released my shoulders in surprise and he stared at me, as if hurt, though I did not see what insult he derived from my words.

"You did not believe I loved you?" he asked.

"I wasn't certain," I replied. "I hoped, desperately so, that you only enjoyed my company, like one of those many barmaids you have bedded over your fifteen years here."

"No," Lancelot said, shaking his head empathically. "That is not true, I..."

"I know now," I whispered, entwining his fingers in my own and looking at him with sadness. "And all I can say is that it would be best for you to forget me."

"No," Lancelot said suddenly, his eyes lighting up dimly. "I will stay."

"No!" I exclaimed, so firmly that Lancelot started with surprise. "You cannot!"

"Why not?" Lancelot asked, frowning.

"Lancelot, Arthur does not want you to stay," I said hurriedly. "I imagine that he doesn't want you to get hurt."

"I can fend for myself for battle, Fuliciana," Lancelot said indignantly.

"I am not questioning that," I said softly. "But these are impossible odds. You would not survive."

"But you are fighting! Arthur is fighting! Why...?"

"You cannot fight because this is not your home!" I exclaimed passionately. "This is not your battle, Lancelot! This is _our _battle! The only battle you have to be facing from now on is the journey home!"

Lancelot stared at me and lay back on the pillow, sighing heavily. Silently, a single tear streamed down his face before he wiped it away furiously, staring up at the ceiling as if that would somehow make all his problems go away.

"Lancelot," I said softly, lying down beside him, resting my head on his chest. Lancelot's arm draped across my shoulders once again, and we lay very much like we had earlier, only now we were tired and sad. "Lancelot, I love you. I'm sorry."

"And I love you," Lancelot whispered brokenly, planting a kiss on the top of my head.

So, lying there in my knight's arms, I slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

It must have been very early morning when I next awoke, but it was still as dark as night. The candle had long since burned out, and Lancelot and I were left alone in the darkness together.

"Lancelot?" I whispered quietly, my hand gently reaching up and touching his hair. He did not move, except for a slight stir and a soft murmur. I gently disentangled myself from him and moved up in the bed so I was lying level with him. Then, I took him in my arms, lying him against my chest, and began to comb through his hair steadily with my fingers.

Lancelot shifted again and turned his head so I could see that his face held a ghost of a smile. I felt my own lips curving up into a similar smile, and I hugged Lancelot close to me like a young child holds a doll tight when she is scared.

And, in truth, I was scared. I was scared for Lancelot and for myself, however selfish that was. I was scared that the Saxons would win the battle the following day, and Arthur and I would die, and Lancelot would be left with no one and nothing but the hope that his family still lived back in Sarmatia. If they had died, what then would Lancelot do? Would he marry? Part of me hoped that he found a beautiful and loving woman and settled down with her, but the selfish part of me hoped that he never found a woman, simply because I did not want him to forget me.

I don't know how long I lay there, thinking of Lancelot and of the battle that would inevitably occur, but I soon fell asleep once again, lulled by Lancelot's heartbeat and his steady breathing against my arms.

* * *

I awoke to feel the sun shining on my face and in my eyes. Though normally I would have basked in the sunlight, enjoying the feeling of the warmth on my face, I cursed it this day, for it meant that I had to leave my Lancelot.

I looked at Lancelot and found that I was still holding him close to me. His curls were tucked under my chin, and his hand was clasped tightly in mine. I smiled sadly and gently disentangled myself from him once again, this time pulling away from his warmth and shivering reluctantly in the cold morning air.

I pulled on my dress and my cloak, and then stood over Lancelot, watching him sleep with sadness and turmoil.

_This is your last chance, _I thought sadly. _This is your last chance. You leave this room, and you will never see him again._

I sighed heavily and seated myself beside him, gently, on the bed. He did not move, and the smile still rested on his face. I traced my finger along his jaw line tenderly, softly singing a song to him that my mother used to sing to me when I was younger.

I did not hear the door open, but I heard the soft steps creeping up behind me, and the soft swish of Guinevere's dress as she moved towards me.

"We must leave, sister," she whispered to me, and I nodded slowly, not taking my eyes off my beloved knight.

"I know," I murmured, and I wiped away my tears furiously. "Look at me, sister, that a mere man, a knight, should cause me so much pain."

"I would feel the same," Guinevere remarked quietly. I tore my eyes away from Lancelot at last, and I stood, facing my sister and allowing her to enfold me in her arms. "I know how you love him, for I love Arthur the same way."

"I know," I murmured. If I had been angry with her, I would have responded that it was easy for her, because Arthur was staying and fighting, but I was not angry. After all my sister had done for me, I couldn't be angry with her.

"Come," Guinevere said, pulling me away gently. "The longer you stay here, the harder it will become to leave."

I nodded, and we walked out of the room side by side. Before I could take one last look at Lancelot through the doorway, Guinevere closed it, and I nodded with thanks before turning and walking down the hallway, not looking back once.


	16. C16: I Will Not Give Her My Blessing!

Random trembling with anticipation So...close...yawn So...close...

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Chapter 16: I Will Not Give Her My Blessing

I saw Lancelot a few hours later, and I was certain that it would be the last time I would ever see him. He was riding on his horse, and he was looking steadily forward, his face set with determination. I watched him through the trees, and even from the distance, I could see that with every step his horse took, his face crumbled.

Then, I saw Tristan, and he was looking directly at me, his face emotionless, but his eyes full of life. His eyes spoke to me, asked me why I was crying, and told me that he did not want to leave. My eyes spoke back, and I told him to take care of Lancelot and to live well. He nodded, and he rode further up the column, to where Lancelot rode.

"Fuliciana, why do you cry for this man who does not even forsake his free life to be with you?"

I felt my shoulders tense angrily at the sound of my father's voice behind me, and I turned to face him, sneering already.

"What do you want me to do, father?" I asked angrily. "What would you have me say? Would you have me say that I did not love Lancelot? If I did, I would by lying."

My father laughed and leaned against the nearest tree, his arms folded across his chest confidently.

"Well?" I asked with just as much confidence. "Did you follow me here to just throw your ideas and feelings about Lancelot in my face, for if you did, then you are wasting your time. I love Lancelot, father. I will openly admit it to you or any who asks. I love him."

My father's confidence faltered for a moment, but then he grinned at me almost evilly, shaking his head slowly.

"You speak like a madwoman," he said. "You have known the boy for mere days, Fuliciana, and yet you claim to love him."

"Sometimes," I said pointedly. "Love does not need years to grow."

"What do you know about love?" my father roared suddenly, lurching towards me. I tripped backwards in my shock and nearly fell, grabbing at a tree at the last instant and steadying myself. "What could you possibly know about love? You are a child!"

I stood silent, watching my father with fear and apprehension. He stared back, his hands clenched into fists and his eyes blazing as his chest heaved with emotion.

"You do not know about love," he whispered. "You could not even _hope _to know about love."

I still stared at him, not allowing myself to move except for the light rising and falling of my chest.

"How else will I learn, then," I said dryly. "Unless I experience it."

My father growled to himself and turned away, pacing slightly, his hand to his forehead. I heard a soft cracking beside me, and in the next instant, Guinevere was there beside me, her sword clutched tightly in one hand.

"Why are you here?" my father asked, obviously glad to change the subject. Guinevere, however, ignored the question.

"I have known Arthur for the same amount of time that Fuliciana has known Lancelot, and yet you do not question our love. In fact, you encourage it. There is no difference between our loves, other than the fact that Lancelot nearly took your life."

Guinevere took a step forward so she was standing between my father and I, wielding her sword as if she meant to kill him with it.

"Guinevere..." my father began softly, but Guinevere silenced him by holding up an impatient hand.

"Father," she began coldly, sighing as she gently picked at the bark of a tree with her fingers. "Your own selfish beliefs and humiliating loss at the hands of a young boy are what drove you to go out of your way to harm Lancelot and Fuliciana's relationship! There is no other excuse. You are not angry because they have loved for scant days. You are not angry because Lancelot makes Fuliciana weak..."

I opened my mouth to protest indignantly, but I decided against it at the last moment.

"You do not even care that he is a knight and she is a woman of Briton! You only remember that battle. Father...just about every man who has survived a battle has been near-fatally wounded by a Sarmatian knight! They do not dwell and memorize the man's features and remember his name simply so they can dream about killing him! They move on, father, and that is what you need to do!"

My father, who had remained silent through all of this, suddenly looked up, anger in his eyes.

"They move on, but they do not have to watch their daughters fall in love with the man that they failed to kill! I do!"

"Why is everything in this world somehow related to you and how you feel?" Guinevere asked through clenched teeth. "_You _do not have to love Lancelot, but Fuliciana loves him. All she asks is your blessing, father."

Honestly, I did not care whether or not my father gave his blessing, but if it were the only way to get him to stop constantly taunting me, then I would play along.

My father, however, had other ideas.

"I will not give her my blessing!" he roared at Guinevere, sticking out his chest proudly. "Not until she learns to obey me like a daughter should."

Guinevere raised her sword a bit higher, and for a moment, I really thought she was going to kill him. A moment later, however, she lowered her sword completely, staring at my father with a look of absolute hatred that turned my stomach to ice.

"Then you may no longer consider yourself our father," Guinevere growled. My father stared at her, shocked.

"You will lose your position!" he exclaimed incredulously.

"No, father," Guinevere said pointedly, looking at my father's lame leg. "I think you will find that _you _will lose your position."

Guinevere turned and began walking away, but my father lurched after her almost drunkenly, cursing loudly. Guinevere turned and held the sword point at his throat, anger glimmering in her eyes.

"You cannot... disown me for this," my father growled.

"You disowned Antora for less," Guinevere replied, and I could see the tears glimmering in her eyes. It was very clear that she felt the pain of our brother's banishment and loss as much as I did.

"I disowned Antora because he betrayed us!"

"He betrayed us?" Guinevere asked through clenched teeth. "He gave aid to a Sarmatian knight! The man died despite his efforts. Nonetheless, father, what Antora did was noble and brave, and you punished him for it."

There was a long pause, and my father stared at me and then at Guinevere, evidently not sure of what to say.

"You are a disgusting man," Guinevere growled, backing away from him slowly. "Go. Go to Merlin, father. I do not want you with the archers."

"I..." my father began haughtily, but Guinevere's narrowed eyes and heaving chest were enough hints to give him cause to reconsider. "You will regret saying what you did."

We waited until he was gone in the trees, and then we started back towards where our men and women would be waiting.


	17. C17: He Saved Us

THE BATTLE! Woot!

Wow, I'm WAY too excited, especially since this was my least favorite scene in the movie! SNIFF

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Chapter 17: He Saved Us...

I don't know how much longer it was before the remains of the Saxon infantry came through the giant double doors in the wall, looking from side to side as if they expected an ambush. Guinevere looked at me and smiled. I smiled in return, peering down into the thick black smoke that filled the air to see if I could see Arthur.

I did not see him, but then, the smoke from the tar pits was heavy. I glanced back at Guinevere and saw her looking at me with a stricken expression.

"What is it?" I asked her.

"Nothing, Guinevere murmured in reply. "Nothing."

I shrugged and followed Guinevere's example in loading my bow. All around us, archers followed our example, raising their bows at the same angle that Guinevere did, waiting for her to release...

With a grim smile of determination, Guinevere loosed her bowstring. I followed her example, and the archers did as well. The arrows flew through the air, cutting through the smoke and disappearing down into it.

We waited, and then heard the shouts and screams of the infantry. Then, there was a lull, and then more screams as Arthur rode through the lines with Excalibur. Then, we raised our bows again, and fired.

This became a deadly cycle of waiting and shooting. Less and less screams reached our ears, until through the smoke I could see bodies littered on the ground, and no living Saxons anywhere.

I turned to Guinevere, and saw that she was already looking at me, a sad look on her face.

"Come Guinevere," I said with a grin. "At least have _some _hope."

"I do, Fuliciana," Guinevere whispered, looking out into the smoke as if she could see Arthur below. "I do."

* * *

Then, the main part of the army moved in. For a long moment, we just stood there as the Saxons marched forward, watching them come. For a while, I thought that the mass would never end, and that we would be fighting an endless army of Saxons.

Fortunately, all armies have limits. Still, there were enough Saxons there that any hope that I had that I was going to survive the battle was completely dashed.

Guinevere raised her bow, and I followed suit, firing and listening to the few screams that cut through the air. These Saxons put up their shields right away, so many deaths were prevented, but we killed a few.

Then, one part of the army split off from the rest, moving over closer to where we stood on the hill, our backs to the woods. I saw the leader of the infantry with the disgusting beard, and I gripped my bow tighter as a man walked by and lit the end of my arrow.

We fired again, this time into a tar pit. Flames sprang up, and the small part of the army with the infantry leader was cut off from the rest. Several Saxons, too stupid or too slow to get out of the way in time, were killed in the flames.

I dropped my bow and picked up my sword, raising it in the air at the same time Guinevere did. All around us, our people were doing the same, and we let out a simultaneous cry, wordless and bloodcurdling.

We charged down the hillside, waving our swords wildly and yelling our cry. The Saxons stared up at us, lust and murderous intent clear on their faces. We did not falter, we did not even hesitate. We just charged down the hillside with all the force of a stampeding herd of horses and clashed with the Saxons, our swords cutting through flesh easily.

I charged deep into the fray, whirling around and attacking the Saxons that surrounded me. _Stab, thrust, pull, whirl, stab, pull, swing, turn and stab_. The chant played in my mind as I twirled and killed, an angel of death among foul beasts. _Stab, turn, look, jump, thrust, pull, swing, kick, stab._

Then, I saw Guinevere through the fray, fighting with the Saxon infantry leader. The Saxons seemed to part to let me past as I ran towards her, desperation and fear mounting in my chest.

A sword made a long gash through my back, and I screamed, falling forward onto the ground, hissing in pain. Before my attacker could have a chance to consider killing me, I rolled onto my back and thrust my sword upward, catching him in the stomach. Pulling my sword out of him, I jumped to my feet and was running again towards Guinevere as she fell. The infantry leader stood over her, and she kicked upwards, catching him in the leg and causing him to fall as well.

I dove on him, slicing my sword across his back. He screamed and pushed me off him. I drove my sword-point upwards and impaled his arm. He hollered in pain and kicked me roughly in the stomach. I doubled over, and he brought his knee up, connecting painfully with my jaw.

I fell back, and moments later, Guinevere fell on top of me, dazed and nearly unconscious. I stared up at the Saxon as he began to bring his sword down on me. I wanted to keep my eyes open, but I could not, and I squeezed them shut tight, shame and sadness filling me. I waited for the pain.

But no pain came. I heard a clang of metal on metal directly above me, and I opened my eyes, seeing three swords above me. I turned and looked, the fear and joy in my heart blending and making an interesting feeling in the pit of my stomach as I looked at Lancelot.

Lancelot and the infantry leader spun off into battle, both of them fighting expertly, but Lancelot clearly having the advantage. He spun his two swords with deadly accuracy, and he kicked the infantry leader, sending him sprawling to the ground.

I jumped up finally and grabbed my sword, beginning to move towards Lancelot to help him. Suddenly, my father ran out of nowhere and stood in front of me, blocking my view of Lancelot.

"Father," I said angrily, keeping an eye out for any Saxons who might be sneaking up on me. "You are not supposed to be here! Return to Merlin."

My father grabbed me by the shoulders, but I pulled free and held up my sword.

"If you prevent me from fighting, father, I will kill you without hesitation."

My father stared at me blankly, but did not try to stop me as I ran past him to find Lancelot. I dimly heard him yelling something to me, but I did not pay any attention.

Lancelot was fighting three Saxons, and was doing a good job of holding them off. I fought towards him, anger and desperation filling me. Why had he returned? Now, I had to look out for him as well as myself.

"Lancelot!" I shouted as I joined him in fighting the three Saxons. "You foolish pig of a man!"

Lancelot grinned as he kicked one of the Saxons, and I thrust my sword through the beast, who was falling to the ground.

"You didn't expect me to leave without saying goodbye, did you?" Lancelot asked playfully as he sliced open another Saxon with a brilliant twirl. I sighed and twirled as well, sinking my sword into the man's gut.

Suddenly, I turned around to make sure that there wasn't anyone behind Lancelot, and I saw the leader of the infantry staring at me with a smile on his face. I started to say something to Lancelot, but then I noticed what the man held in his hand. A crossbow.

I gasped in shock when I saw that the crossbow was not aimed at me, but at Lancelot, who was busy killing the last of the three Saxons.

I screamed and turned to pull Lancelot out of the way of the crossbow, but it was too late. Lancelot turned, and the Saxon fired, the arrow hitting Lancelot in the chest.

My mouth dropped open as tears automatically sprang to my eyes, and I stared at Lancelot, too shocked and horrified to move. He looked at me, and he drew in a shuddering breath, so pained and scared that I felt an urge to reach out and pull him into my arms.

Suddenly, Lancelot's gaze turned to the Saxon, and I saw the anger and hatred present. The man was smiling, silently gloating over his victory that he had so wrongly won.

_How dare he smile_, I thought, my hands clenching into fists as I dropped my sword to the ground, my body no longer responding to anything I told it to do.

Lancelot was still on his feet, I noticed. _Perhaps he is going to be all right._ As I watched, Lancelot drew back his arm and hurled one of his swords. I watched it travel, end over end through the air, until it hit the Saxon square in the gut.

The man only had a few seconds to make a gurgling noise before he keeled over and died. I watched him for a few moments after he fell to make certain that he was, in fact, dead. Then, I turned to Lancelot.

Lancelot was standing unsteadily on his feet, looking at me with tears in his eyes. I took a step forward towards him, but then he gave one final, gut-wrenching sob, and he collapsed to the ground, his curls bouncing.

I dove to my knees, panic and fear filling me. His eyes were half-closed, and he stared up at me sadly, his mouth spilling blood. I pulled his head to my chest and held him there, crying to any god that was listening.

"Do not take him!" I screamed. "Please! For all of our sakes, do not take him!"

Lancelot heaved in my arms, and he shuddered slightly, coughing up blood on my stomach. His mouth worked against me, but I dared not let him go for one instant to try and understand what he was saying. His hands closed around my revealing Woad battle outfit, and a sob wracked his body.

"Stay with me, Lancelot," I whispered, a great pain searing my heart in two at the sight of him suffering so much. "Do not give in. Please, Lancelot."

Lancelot gave a sad little shiver, and then he was earth-shatteringly still. I held him to my chest for a moment longer, before I realized that I could no longer feel him breathing against me, and then I pulled him away and looked at his face, tears of shock and disbelief blurring my vision.

He was smiling. It was that same, innocent smile that I had noticed the night before, when he had lain in my arms peacefully. I began to shake with grieved sobs, and I laid my forehead to his, crying his name over and over again sadly.

"Why did you return?" I wailed, closing my eyes and letting the waves of grief and guilt wash over me. "You were free!"

I thought back to the night before, when Lancelot had pressed his hand to his chest. _The scar you made is here_, he had said, smiling. _But I do not feel any pain from that scar. Only peace and bliss._

I felt a warm hand on my back, and I felt a single tear land on the top of my head. I looked up and saw Guinevere standing above me, looking down at Lancelot with a look of pure grief and horror.

"He saved us," I whispered hollowly. "He saved us and look at what he gave! Look...he..." I stared down at Lancelot helplessly and then turned my gaze back up on Guinevere. She knelt beside me and wrapped her arms around me as I sobbed into her shoulder, the pain of losing Lancelot too much for me to bear. Suddenly, I thought of Arthur, and was filled with an even greater sadness. Lancelot loved Arthur, and Arthur loved Lancelot. The two were the closest of friends, from what I gathered. What would Arthur do when he found out that Lancelot was dead? What would he say?

I tried to stand, but Guinevere held me there, shushing me.

"You cannot go," she whispered. "Stay. It will do Arthur good."

Obviously, she had had the same thought that I had. I nodded and gently lay Lancelot on the ground, awaiting Arthur and trying to control my grief.


	18. C18: It Was My Life To Be Taken!

Nothing to say, really, so I'll just remind you all to review! Tell me what you think! Good? Bad? Holy-shit-horrible? TELL ME! Please?

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Chapter 18: It Was My Life To Be Taken!

We did not have to wait for Arthur long. He ran forward, horror and shock on his face as he saw Guinevere and I clutching each other on the ground. When his eyes fell on Lancelot's body, he fell to his knees in disbelief, casting aside his helmet almost angrily. His trembling hand reached out and touched Lancelot's soft curls, and he began to shake with sobs.

"It was my life to be taken!" he cried to the heavens, his hands clenched into fists as they rested on Lancelot's chest. Lancelot just smiled up at the sky serenely. "Not this! Never this!"

I heard a soft rustle behind me, and I turned, gasping with renewed horror as I saw Bors lying Tristan's body on the ground behind me. I leapt up, quivering with shock and terror.

Galahad stepped forward then, and he enfolded me in his arms protectively, whispering to me that everything was going to work out in the end. I just let him hold me, and I cried, staring down at Tristan's lifeless form, and wishing that he would just _move_. I was not used to seeing Tristan's eyes so still. Usually, they darted from left to right and did not ever rest. He was always moving, that mysterious knight, and it nearly killed me inside to know that he would never move again.

"My brave knights, I have failed you," said Arthur from where he knelt, looking up at his three remaining knights. "I neither took you off this island nor shared your fate."

Galahad released me, and nudged me towards Lancelot's body gently. Taking his hint, I knelt across from Arthur, and I reached a trembling hand across and placed it on his shoulder.

"For what it is worth," I whispered, my heart breaking inside as Arthur looked up at me, his vacant eyes filled only with tears. "I know that he loved you as his greatest friend."

"And I failed him," Arthur murmured, looking down on Lancelot sadly. "I failed him."

"No," I whispered, my grip tightening on Arthur's shoulder. "You did not fail him. He fought for you, Arthur. He fought for you and he died for you. If you failed him, he would not have done that."

"He is dead," Arthur said coldly. "He will never again see his family!"

"You were worth more to him than any family he ever had," I said softly, and Arthur obviously knew this to be true, for he nodded slowly, and he rested his hand on my shoulder, just as I was doing to him.

Arthur looked down at Lancelot, and I could see the pain and turmoil on his face. Lancelot meant the world to Arthur, that much was plain. Without him...what would Arthur do?

"For what it is worth," Arthur said to me quietly. "I know he loved you as well."

I shrugged and shook my head slowly, my free hand lingering down to Lancelot's curls affectionately.

"Perhaps, but I do not deserve to grieve as you do."

This time, it was Arthur's turn to shake his head in denial.

"No," he said. "There is no greater grief than that of a lover. You were Lancelot's lover, Fuliciana. I was merely his friend."

"His friend for fifteen years," I reminded Arthur sadly. "I was his lover for a night."

Arthur sighed and removed his hand from my shoulder. I did the same, and watched as Arthur placed his hand on Lancelot's chest, staring at the handsome knight with no small amount of sadness.

"Your love for him was strong, Fuliciana," he said heavily. "I could see it in the way you looked at him. You and he would have been very happy."

Arthur sighed and hiccupped with hid fading sobs, and almost absently began to pull the arrow slowly out of Lancelot's chest. I looked away and found Guinevere's eyes. She just nodded at me and then looked away, into the woods. I followed her gaze and saw my father watching from the trees. To my surprise, he looked distraught.

Suddenly, a ragged gasp tore through the air. I turned to look at Lancelot once again and found his eyes open, staring at me with a passion and intensity that took my breath away and left me unable to do anything but stare back in shock.

"Gentle!" Lancelot gasped, flashing a painfully impish grin at Arthur despite the fact that he could barely get a word out without flinching in pain and whitening another shade.

"The Lord be praised," Arthur murmured in his shock, staring at Lancelot as if he wasn't quite sure if his friend was alive or if it was just his body playing tricks.

Lancelot tried to sit, and it was then that everyone began to come out of their shock. The three knights all cheered and laughed loudly, though they did spare a sad glance for poor Tristan, as if to make sure that he was really dead. Guinevere let out a huge sigh of relief and wrapped her arms around my neck lovingly, laughing quietly. Arthur just stared at Lancelot, disbelief and happiness on his face.

I reached out and took Lancelot's hand, squeezing it slightly. Lancelot's eyes focused and he stared at me, a smile spreading over his features. I smiled back through incredulous tears and brought his hand up to my lips, kissing the fingertips gently.

Suddenly, pain flashed across Lancelot's features, and he coughed uncomfortably, squeezing my hand harder. His breath was rattling in his chest, and his throat wheezed audibly. As I watched, a small bubble of blood escaped his lips and burst, splattering tiny droplets on his already-bloody face. His hand tightened even more on mine, and I felt a sharp pain shooting up my arm.

"We must get him some help," Arthur shouted. "Hurry!"

Galahad, being the only one who noticed that Lancelot's hand was tight around my own, stepped forward and pulled my hand out of his grasp. Then, he helped me stand as Arthur and Gawain started to lift Lancelot up.

I suddenly felt very weak and tired, and I began to falter on my feet a little as we walked. Galahad and Guinevere held me up, but with each step I found myself leaning on them heavier and heavier, until finally I could stand no longer. The earth rushed up to meet me, and my world faded to black.


	19. C19: Hail Arthur!

Final Chapter! Author's Note at the end!

* * *

Chapter 19: Hail Arthur!

Once again, there was blackness and pain all around me, and I began to think that it had all been a dream. Lancelot, the battle on the ice, Tristan...all of it. I thought I was still back in the dungeon, lying on the floor brokenly.

I opened my eyes, and they were met with a bright glare that filled my eyes and forced me to turn my head and look away. My back throbbed from the gash it had received on the battlefield, and I realized that I wasn't back in the temple of Marius Honorius, but lying in a soft bed with blankets covering me, a soft breeze playing with my wet hair.

I sat up slowly, trying to ignore the pain that was nearly suffocating me as I did so. I looked around the room, looking to see if there was anyone with me. Guinevere sat next to my bed, her eyes closed in sleep.

I considered waking her, but suddenly I remembered Lancelot. Before I had lost consciousness, I clearly remembered Arthur telling everyone to hurry, for Lancelot was in grave peril.

I stood up and stretched, careful of my healing wound. I noticed that my hand was bandaged up tightly, and I remembered the jolt of pain that had shot up it when Lancelot had squeezed it tightly. Some of the bones must have broken.

With another glance at Guinevere to make sure she was still sleeping, I pulled a dress off of the bed that looked like it had been lain out for me, and then I clothed myself, grabbing my dagger off the side table and walking quietly to the door, slipping out and sighing with relief when I did not wake Guinevere.

"You should not be up," said a voice from behind me suddenly. I turned in surprise and saw Arthur standing there, smiling at me. "I was just going to check on you."

"I..." I stammered nervously, not sure of how to talk to Arthur. Last time, on the battlefield, I had been grieved, and my nerves had not had time to act up. Now, I was shaking like a leaf in the wind. _How does one talk to a legend?_

"He will recover," Arthur said with a smile. "He was asking after you. That is why I am here. Judging by the sight of the wound on your back, though, I would say you have healing to do as well."

I flushed a deep crimson color and wondered, not for the first time, what the wound on my back looked like. It certainly felt bad enough to be giving people cause for concern.

"I wish to see him," I said quietly, almost under my breath. Arthur nodded and gestured for me to follow him, and then he started off down the hall, with me close behind.

We moved down the hallway quickly, passing few people on our way. Those we did pass, I did not know, and they did not acknowledge either Arthur or I. Finally, Arthur stopped in front of a door, and he pushed it open as silently as was possible.

Though it was probably around mid-day, it was very dark in Lancelot's room. The curtains were pulled over the windows, letting in no sunlight, and the only candle was one that burned dimly by the doorway.

"I will leave you," Arthur said quietly, giving me a little nudge so I was completely in the room and closing the door after me. I peered into the darkness, but could see nothing but the dim outline of a bed, so I picked up the candle and started walking towards Lancelot's bed.

"Fuliciana?" came Lancelot's tired voice suddenly. I set the candle next to the bed and seated myself on the edge of it, facing Lancelot, who was struggling to sit. I gently reached out my hand and pushed him back.

"Don't," I said firmly, but with a smile. "I do not want you to get hurt any more."

"You came," Lancelot said with a smile. I bent down, pressing my lips against his. His hand came up and circled my neck tenderly, cradling my head. My heart suddenly burned with the remnants of the grief I had felt on the battlefield when I thought that Lancelot was lost.

"Of course I came," I whispered, pulling away from Lancelot for only a moment. "Why would I not?"

"I don't know," Lancelot said, sighing into my ear. I rested my head on his shoulder, though my back was beginning to hurt from being so hunched over. "I feared...I don't know."

I sighed and kissed Lancelot again, this time quickly. Lancelot pushed himself into a sitting position, and though I protested, he remained that way.

"Lancelot," I said warningly. "Really, please lie down. You don't want to strain yourself."

Lancelot took my bandaged hand and stared at it, a flash of pain crossing his face. He looked up into my eyes with a sad expression.

"I did this," he whispered with realization.

"Yes," I replied. "You did not mean to."

"But I did it. I caused you pain."

I sighed and shook my head.

"I welcomed the pain," I replied softly. "For it meant that you yet lived."

"Fuliciana," said Lancelot, leaning forward and clasping my hands in his, his face so serious that I anticipated with dread what he had to say. "Will you go with me when I leave for Sarmatia."

I blinked at Lancelot with surprise and pulled away from his grasp, placing my face in my hands and breathing in heavily.

"Yes," I said after a pause.

"Yes?" Lancelot asked me, sounding genuinely surprised. "You will?"

"Yes," I said. "I can not remain here, Lancelot, not without you."

Lancelot nodded slowly, and he stared at the flame of the candle, his eyes dancing with the firelight. After a long pause, in which the only sound was of our ragged breathing, he turned to me, sadness plain on his face.

"Then we're staying," he said. I just stared at him for a few moments, trying to comprehend what he meant.

"What?" I asked incredulously.

"We're staying. Here. With Arthur."

"But your family...?"

"You would have sacrificed your home to be with me, so I will do the same."

"No, Lancelot. I can not ask you do..."

"You do not have to ask me anything. I am staying of my own free will."

"But..."

"Please, Fuliciana," interrupted Lancelot for what felt like the thousandth time. "I want to stay here, I do. You and Arthur are more important than a family I left behind."

"Then we will remain here," I said, smiling sadly.

"And we can love one another for the rest of our lives," Lancelot pointed out, grinning at me. "Everything worked out in the end."

I thought back to what Galahad had whispered to me, back on the battlefield. _Do not cry any longer, Fuliciana. Everything will work out in the end. _

"Yes," I whispered. "Everything did."

* * *

And so, we stayed. Arthur and Guinevere were married in a beautiful ceremony by the coast, by Merlin. My father was there as well, though he stood in the back, nearly hidden by the trees.

I stood with Lancelot and the other knights, watching Guinevere and Arthur perform the ritual with tears in my eyes. A more perfect beginning for them couldn't have ever been thought up by anyone.

Guinevere drank from the wedding goblet, and passed it to Arthur, who raised it to his own lips and drank deeply. Merlin looked at them and nodded.

"Our people are one," he said emotionally. "As you are."

The crowd cheered, a rousing, happy sound despite the hardships of the past year. I looked around me, and could see some of the faces of the peasants who had been rescued from the estate of Marius Honorius along with Guinevere and I. They stood, mixed with my people and with the Sarmatian Knights, cheering together, laughing or crying with joy.

"King Arthur!" Merlin yelled, holding a torch aloft.

"Hail Arthur!" everyone cheered, and Merlin knelt to the ground. Everyone else only waited a moment before following suit willingly. I watched my father struggle to kneel with a small amount of pity before I remembered his angry words to me before the battle, and all my pity faded.

"Let every man, woman, child bear witness that from this day, all Britons will be united in one common cause," said Arthur, and he raised his sword high into the air. Guinevere's hand joined his, and they held the sword aloft together, the very symbol of what Briton would become under their rule.

All around us, the crowd chanted Arthur's name. I turned to Lancelot as archers fired a volley of flaming arrows into the ocean. He was looking at me, smiling with happiness. I smiled back, and looked out to the green plains, peace filling me at the sight that met my eyes.

Two horses, one black, one white, ran in the distance, tossing their heads and neighing. Above them, a lone hawk flew, circling over them protectively, crying out.

I turned to Lancelot, and saw him looking at me still, but this time there were tears in his eyes. When he saw me watching him, he looked away, and I knew that he had seen our friends as well.

* * *

A/N: You may be wondering why the hell Fuliciana's father is still alive, and why I didn't go into more detail concerning Lancelot's recovery, as I did last time. Well...I have an idea concerning flashbacks and the sequel, and I wanted Fuliciana's father to be there for that as well, so...well, I guess you'll have to just wait and see!

I hope you liked my revisions! Please remember to review! I LOVE reviews! Now, off to bed, and then in the morning I'll begin work on my Lancelot POV.


	20. Love

This is basically just me wanting to write about Fuliciana, but not being finished with my new version yet.

Well, this is basically taking place a few months after Badon Hill. Arthur and Guinevere are married, though that really has nothing to do with the story at all. This is just a stinking pile of me being bored, I guess.

**Love? **

He swept her up into his arms, and suddenly she was clothed. She looked down at Lancelot, and she frowned, looking up at the man in front of her.

"This isn't right," she whispered, but she didn't pull away.

"Why not?" asked the voice she so longed to hear every day, and she shivered, pressing against him and lying her head on his chest.

"I am to be married to Lancelot soon. I do not want to feel guilt on our wedding day."

"But you love me?"

"I love you, yes."

"Do you love me more than you love him?"

"I..."

She looked up into his eyes, tears glimmering.

"You do not know."

"No."

"I cause you pain, don't I?"

His smile was crooked and broken, and she knew that if he allowed it, that tears would be in his eyes. But he was strong. He would not let his emotions be seen.

"You do, but I can not bear to have to apart from me."

"And yet we must be apart, by cruel fate that it was Lancelot who pulled you out of the dungeon, and not me."

"By cruel fate, yes, but for more reasons than one."

"We do not have to talk of that now. We do not have to talk at all."

Suddenly, his lips were on hers, and he pushed into her. She tried to pull away, but his scent filled her nostrils, and she could not resist the temptation that had been staring her in the face for almost a year.

His lips moved down her neck, and she pulled him to her, tears pouring down her face. Torn between her love for Lancelot, and her love for the man in front of her, she began to shake as she sobbed.

"You still feel wrong," he whispered sadly, clutching her hands in his own. He gently kissed the tears off her face, and she leaned into him, clinging to him desperately as if he were shielding her from a storm.

"I can not help it," she whimpered. "I love him desperately."

"You do not love me?"

The heartbreak in his eyes was too much to bear.

"Yes! I love you! That is my problem! You can not know how many tears I cried for you!"

"Yes I can. I have been watching you since I first met you, Fuliciana."

She looked up at him, and his lips lightly grazed her own.

"You need not feel guilty," he whispered into her ear. "One can not be held accountable for what occurs in a dream."

Fuliciana's eyes closed, and she began to shake silently with sobs as she no longer felt those strong arms around her. She did not want to see him fade before her eyes, just has he had the night before and the night before that.

"Tristan," she whimpered into the night air. "I _do_ love you."

And she returned to bed, staring into Lancelot's face lovingly and loving him, but loving Tristan all the same.

And far off in the distance, a black horse stood impatiently as a white horse cantered up, neighing sadly. The black horse shook its head with a snort. One might say it was laughing.


	21. The Trailer for the Sequel

Okay, here it is! This is the trailer to the sequel to Sister of Guinevere. I've never done one of these, so please don't laugh!

Updates for SOG should be coming soon. I'm semi-close to being almost finished. (I'm at the part where they're all standing on the wall watching the Saxon fires.) I think the Lancelot POV might be easier to write, so this sequel might be quicker in coming than I expected! Please enjoy and tell me what you think!

Trailer:

(Screen is black. Fades in on Arthur and Guinevere's wedding.)

Merlin (V.O.): A unity was forged.

(Guinevere and Arthur kiss)

Merlin (V.O.) A love was bred.

(Arthur fights at Badon Hill)

Merlin (V.O.) And a legend was born.

(Arthur stands at night on the wall of the fort, looking out to the distance.)

Merlin (V.O.): But the threat...

(Shot of Saxons walking through the woods)

Merlin (V.O.): ...had not been eliminated.

(Random shots of fighting. Cut to a young blonde woman (A/N: Miranda Otto is who I see her as) walking with Guinevere.

Blonde Woman: He made us a promise. He said he would return, but he did not.

(Lancelot kisses Fuliciana passionately. Cut to a shot of Lancelot with his arms around Fuliciana, protecting her.)

Fuliciana: I would forgive you any wrong.

(Random shot of Fuliciana and Lancelot 'Going at it')

Fuliciana: Just do not leave me in the dark again.

(Cut to Fuliciana standing and staring at a brown haired woman who looks somewhat like her.)

Fuliciana: What is your name?

Woman: Elaine.

(Cut to Guinevere and the blonde woman from before, walking through a hall.)

Guinevere: Your brother is a brave man.

(Arthur stands by the woods, yelling in fury and hatred. Cut to blonde woman holding a sword awkwardly, as Fuliciana watches, shaking her head slowly. Screen fades to black.)

Arthur(shouting): Why have you taken what I hold so dear?

(Cut to Fuliciana running through the woods madly, followed by a horde of Woads. Cut to Galahad embracing Fuliciana as she weeps. Fade to black.)

Galahad: You think I would let you go out there without me by your side?

(Random shots of fighting in the woods; Fuliciana stumbles and falls, wounded, to the ground, hidden by the under brush; The blonde woman runs through the woods frantically. Arthur, Fuliciana, Guinevere, and Galahad stand on the wall, watching something below with anger in their faces; Arthur and Lancelot fight Saxons.)

(Words on the screen: After I finally finish my revisions...)

(Cut to: Lancelot stabbing a Saxon mercilessly.)

(Words on the screen: And after I write my Lancelot point of view...)

(Arthur and Guinevere kiss, both of them with tears running down their faces.)

(Words on the screen: The Sister of Guinevere 2: Tears of a Warrior.)

Voiceover announcer: Rated PG-13 for violence, mild language, and some non-graphic adult content.


End file.
